Sinking Into the Sand
by bobsytwins
Summary: His tanned skin looked especially dark against mine; the difference in shade almost funny. But as I look down at my pale fingers entwined with his, it only adds to my growing certainty that this is right.
1. Jabberjay

**Hi guys. I absolutely adore the idea of Finnick and Katniss together, so I thought I would try my hand at some Finniss fan fiction. This is just going to be a bunch of one shots in one big story, so I hope you guys like it. **

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I sink my fingers into the damp sand, the cool grains providing relief to my shaking hands. I draw out a shaky breath but it sticks in my throat. I look with the corner of my eye to see Finnick sitting in the water. His bronze hair is damp, and even from here I can tell he is shaking as much as I am. Peeta has long since stopped trying to comfort me, so he sits a few yards away with Beetee and Johanna. Every now and then he looks over at me, silently asking if I'm ok. I don't respond, because there is no point asking questions you already know the answers to.

I slowly stand up, making sure my movements are slow and smooth. Anything to quick or jerky will make my head spin, and then I would have to sit back down again. I rub my hands together to remove the remainder of the sand, and quietly walk over towards Finnick.

My feet sink into the grainy sand. I silently wish it would just suck me up and swallow me whole. Anything sounds better than the nightmare I'm living in right now.

The water is cold against my ankles, but I ignore it. I wade over to where Finnick is sitting, and ease myself into the water. He doesn't acknowledge me sitting here, but I don't expect him to. But I do expect some answers.

Even against his tanned skin, I can see it's red and splotchy. With his red and puffy eyes, the sea green in them contrasts in an almost frightening way. His finger traces circles in the water, and he hums a tune I can't recognize.

He reminds me of my father in a strange sort of way. Any form of singing or humming makes me think of him, so I usually try to avoid it. I think back to how hard it was to sing for Rue; not only because she was dying, but because music is only a reminder of my father's death. The pang in my chest is strong, but it doesn't subside like it usually does.

We don't say anything for a long while. Artificial pink coats the sky in thick hues, and it only adds to my growing anxiety. The foamy waves that gently caress my waist seem to provide strange means of comfort, so I just focus on the gentle rise and fall of the small waves.

I look over to Finnick, who, even though I am right next to, seems more distant than ever. His eyes have a far-away glaze that I so often see in Gale's. Thoughts jumble in my head, and right when I think I have a coherent thought ready it leaves me. Sentences jam in my throat, and I silently wish I could be as good with words as Peeta is.

I sigh. I decide to just come right out and say it.

"Finnick?"

He doesn't say anything, but I can tell he's listening.

"Why did one of the jabberjays sound like me?"

He clenches his jaw, and I immediately regret ever saying that. But that question has been chewing at my insides all afternoon, and I wanted some answers.

_"Katniss! Katniss, please help me!" My blood runs cold. I jump to my feet, and sprint into the jungle. "Prim! Prim, where are you? I'm coming!" My eyes are frantic, searching for any signs of my little sister. Leaves and vines cut at my face, but I am too charged with adrenaline to even notice the pain. "Katniss!" Gale. My breathing grows heavier, the pained sounds of everyone I love incasing me in an inescapable dome. _

_ Finnick comes crashing through the trees, and rushes over to my side, tugging at my arms. "Katniss! Are you ok?" _

_ "Finnick!" A voice I don't recognize shouts his name, but the color in Finnick's face drains. He drops my arms immediately, and runs deeper into the trees. "Finnick, its not real!" I shout. I chase after him, desperate to ignore the sounds of my sister and family wailing in agony. I find Finnick frantically searching for the disembodied voice, his face pale. "Finnick! It's not real! They're jabberjays!" Finnick shakes his head, turning towards me with a wild look in his eyes. "How do you think they got that sound Katniss? Jabberjays copy." The truth of it sinks in, and my knees start to buckle. "How did they get that sound?" I think to myself. The shrieking increases in volume and intensity, but then I hear a new voice added to the set of screams. It's my voice._

_ It couldn't have been me, because my mouth is clamped shut._

_ They obviously wouldn't put the sound of my own screaming to scare me, so who would it be for?_

_ Peeta?_

_ But Peeta isn't here._

_ Finnick. Finnick is here._

_ I grip his shoulders tighter, shaking him a little. "Finnick, its ok. I'm ok. I'm right here." My attempts at comfort seem weak, but his panicked breathing begins to slow a little. I flinch at the sound of Gale screaming my name. _

_ "We need to get out of here," Finnick says. I nod my head, and we run back towards the beach._

Finnick stares at the ocean for a long time. For a second I think I see some color rise in his cheeks, but I was probably just imagining things. Heat is slowly leaching out of my body, and sitting in the water isn't helping that much. I want to get this conversation over and done with, but part of me knows that this is the only chance I'll get to a normal conversation with Finnick.

I sigh through my nose. "The jabberjays made the sounds of people we…care about." The last two words choke in my throat, but I urge myself to keep going. Prim. Gale. Madge. Even my mother. I shudder at the memory. "Finnick? Do you…why did..?" I stumble on my words, unable to string them together.

"Look, all I want to know is why-" his lips soon interrupt my words. He presses his face to mine intently, his salty-sweet scent mixing with the briny smell of the ocean. I don't move, or do anything. In fact, I'm completely frigid, because all I can think about is how warm his lips are. But, as quickly as it started, it ended. He pulls away slowly, and the lack of warmth from his lips and body makes me shudder.

The realization of what I just did hits me with full force, and guilt soon replaces any feeling that I just had. I turn around to see if Peeta witnessed what happened, but I notice that he and Johanna are both gone. Probably went to get some more fresh water.

I play with the end of my braid, unsure of what to do or say. Nothing seems to make sense anymore, and this just adds to my list of confusion. Finnick has always been a flirtatious kind of person- he might have just been messing me. But the jabberjays? That wasn't exactly a practical joke. The thought of him even liking me comes to me more of a surprise than anything. But before I sort through my feelings, I need to figure out his.

"Finnick I-"

"I'm sorry. I don't know why I did that."

"No, its…its ok, I'm just confused."

_"Why are you so stupid?"_ I think to myself.

He pauses for a moment, trying to regain his thoughts.

The sun has now just dipped under the horizon, the air already starting to cool off. I think Finnick is just as confused as I am, what happened bewilders us both I'm sure.

I wait intently for him to say something. Anything. I want him to crack a joke, or smirk, or laugh. But he says nothing. I sigh through my nose, and slowly stand up. "I think we should head back to the others," I say. I reach my hand down to pull him up, and he grasps it without hesitation. I don't think I've ever been this confused in my entire life, and the fluttering feeling in my chest is driving me insane, but I refuse to let go of his hand. We look at each other, waiting for the other to pull their hand away.

Neither of us do.

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**Well thats it! Thanks for reading it, reviews are really appreciated. I'll try to post another little chapter soon, so hopefully y'all won't have to wait to long. Thanks again! :)**


	2. Knots

**Wow. All I can say is wow. This story has been up for barely 2 days, and I already have followers and favorites. Thank you guys so much, I really appreciate the support and am so happy you guys like my work. :)**

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"How do you bear it?" I ask softly. Finnick stares at me in disbelief. "I don't," he says quietly. I sigh through my nose, my stomach churning. "Do you…" I choke on the last words. "…still have nightmares?" Finnick nods his head slowly, his eyes trained on the knots forming and disappearing. It's only then that I notice the cuts and rope burn on his fingers, the dried blood from small gashes he never bothers to clean. This stirs something in me, adding to my growing hatred for Snow and the Capitol. He has ruined us. He has ruined me.

Unthinkingly, I reach out and grasp his hand. "Your hands…" I whisper. He doesn't say anything. He looks at our joined hands with an almost quizzical look, but I am to preoccupied with my fantasies of killing Snow to feel embarrassed.

"The nightmares never go away," he whispers. Something within me shrivels and dies, because there was a small part of me hoping my nighttime terrors would disappear, or at the very least subside. Peeta's arms can only do so much.

My hands are clammy and cold, but Finnick doesn't seem to notice. He holds my hand tighter. Under the dim light, I see a lone tear traveling down the side of his face. I reach out and place my hand on his cheek. I wipe the tear with my thumb, and smile. "Don't cry," I say softly. I have already lost Peeta. I can't lose Finnick.

I try to pull my hand away, but Finnick only grasps it harder. "We're going to save him Katniss." I don't do, or say anything. If we even do managed to rescue Peeta, his physical and mental damage due to the horrors he must be enduring might be irreparable.

I shake my head a little, in hopes to be a little more present. He gently traces his thumb over my knuckles, and I feel blush rising in my cheeks. He takes the tattered piece of rope he had abandoned and places it in my hands. "Tomorrow, we'll get you a new piece of rope. Until then, you can use mine." "Are you sure?" I ask. He nods his head. I hold it in my hands, the limp thing burning into my palm. I am thankful, but I didn't exactly exceed in knot tying at the Quarter Quell. He must notice, so he scoots behind me and wraps his arms around my torso, placing his hands on mine.

I'm sure he can notice me blushing, so he places his head on my shoulder and puts his mouth to my ear. "Am I making you…_uncomfortable?_" he whispers. I laugh shakily. "Of course not." I say. He laughs lightly, and I feel a huge weight lifted off of my chest. It feels good to have a friend to joke around with again.

After about half an hour of tying knots and talking with Finnick, I'm exhausted. I yawn, and rub my eyes. "Are you tired?" he asks softly. I nod my head, my eyelids struggling to stay open. Fatigue soon takes over, and I feel if I don't lie down I'm going to pass out. He places my head on his lap, and I close my eyes. My hands still obsessively tie knots, and I almost forget Finnick is with me until I feel him undoing and redoing my braid. "Do you want your rope back?" I ask tiredly. He chuckled quietly, finishing off the end of my braid. "No, I suppose your hair will have to do." I smile, and let my fatigue take over.

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**Sorry for the shortness, I thought this particular story would be best short and sweet. I would love to hear your thoughts and suggestions, if anyone wants me to write a story in a certain time period in the trilogy, I would love to look at your requests. Hunger Games, Catching Fire, Mockingjay, Post-Mockinjay etc... I'm kind of going all over the place with these one-shots, the last chapter being a Post-Mockingjay. Thanks for the support, I'll try to update ****soon! **


	3. Heartbeat

**Hey everyone! So sorry about the long time it took to ****update, I was in New York for a week and this chapter took me forever to write. I hope you guys like it! **

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I can't hear anything. I see lips moving, hands shoving, and mutts crawling. But I hear nothing. I smell the dizzying scent of roses. I can smell blood. But I can't hear anything. I can feel the rusty rungs underneath my palms, cutting into me, urging me to climb faster. But I can't hear anything. Only one word registers. _Climb._

Movement soon brings me to my senses, my body soon regaining full awareness of what is happening. Pollux is in front of me, strangely calm given the situation that we're in. Peeta and Cressida are behind me, and soon the adrenaline I so often rely on kicks in. We reach a platform, only to begin climbing the second one. At the next one, I begin to frantically pull everyone up and off the ladder. Peeta. Cressida. That's all.

I hurriedly climb back down to retrieve the others, only to be greeted by a wounded Gale. He has a huge wound in his neck, but he shows no fear or pain. I climb back up with him, and peer down to see if Finnick or anyone else is down there. I start to hyperventilate, because the thought of any more loss of life is too much for me to bear.

Gale takes my face in his hands, forcing me to look at him. We don't speak, because we already know what the other is thinking. Someone is still alive. But they aren't coming up.

I think of Finnick. Arrogant, funny, beautiful Finnick. One of the only people who had managed to keep me sane. One of the only people I was certain I cared about. One of the only people I can't bear to lose.

I send Gale a pleading look, silently begging him to let me go down and retrieve Finnick. Gale's eyes harden, momentarily glancing down into the gloom. His eyebrows knit together in frustration, but I can't waste anymore time waiting for an answer. I push past him, already gripping the ladder. I climb down so quickly that my hands slip, my palms slick with sweat and the metal rungs coated with mildew.

I gag at the overwhelming scent of roses. I breathe through my mouth, desperate to avoid breathing in the toxicity of those roses. My feet slam onto the first platform, and I see a ragged hand gripping the edge. I rush over, praying it isn't some hallucination or a mutt.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, praying he will be ok. Hoping he will still retain the glowing happiness I have learned to love. I take a deep breath, but choke on the scent of blood. I force my eyes open, and grasp Finnick's hand. I almost drop him at the sight of his wounds; he looks more like a mutt than an actual human. He has a huge gash on his right cheek, and it oozes more and more blood with each second I waste. I haul him up, bracing myself for the sight of his injuries.

But before I even look at him, I crush him in a hug, gripping him like a lifeline. Here he is, bleeding, dying, and I'm the one crying. "Oh my god…I thought you were dead," I say, my voice muffled against his chest. I pull away from him, wiping the tears from my cheeks. He suit is torn and shredded, revealing angry red bite marks and scratches. His hands are completely stained with blood, which is when I notice him holding his side. I take his hands and pull them away gently, trying to look at the severity of the wound.

I gasp at the sight, and my head starts to feel fuzzy again. I put my hand to my mouth, trying to keep down the bile rising in my throat. I thought his other injuries were bad, but they look like paper cuts compared to this. His flesh is torn and severed, and its cut so deep I see bone. I know it can only be a bite mark, and that I can only do so much to fix a stolen hunk of flesh. His teeth are clamped down on his lip, and he is struggling not to scream in agony. I hear scratching at the ladder, which can only mean the mutts are climbing after us. "We need to get out of here. Do you think you can keep climbing?" Finnick nods, his face growing pale at the sight of the ladder outstretched ahead of us.

Finnick climbs first, grunting with each movement. At this speed, I know the mutts will catch up to us, and their hissing grows louder every minute. "Finnick keep climbing. We are almost there, please just stay with me," I plead. I look up and see Gale with outstretched arms, ready to pull us up. The mutts have already made it to the first platform, and I pick a few of them off with my explosive tipped arrows. The explosion rattles my bones, and I press my body closer to the ladder to avoid the shards of mutt and metal raining down on me. I try to ignore the hissing sounds of my name, but it feels like they're shouting directly into my ear. My arms begin to shake, my legs screaming in protest. Finnick has already reached the second platform, and Gale waits for me at the top. "Katniss! You need to climb!" he yells.

I slowly grasp the next rung of the ladder, my breathing heavy. _Climb._ I stumble up the ladder, and grasp Gale's forearms with sweaty hands. He pulls me up, and envelopes me in a hug. "Don't you _ever_ do something crazy like that ever again," he says in my ear. He holds me for a minute, and then pulls away. I slide the Holo from my belt and choke out "nightlock, nightlock, nightlock." I release it, and huddle against the wall with the others as the explosion jerks the platform and bits of mutt and human appendages shoot out and land at our feet. "Where's Finnick?" I ask. Gale gestures behind him, and I see Cressida and Pollux tending to his wounds. I rush over to his side, gripping his hand tightly. "Finnick? Finnick, I need you to stay alive for me. Keep breathing." His eyes flutter open, and he squeezes my hand lightly. Pollux pours some clear liquid onto his arm wounds, and he yells in pain.

"Shh. Shh. I know it hurts, please just calm down and breathe," I say gently. "We need to clean it out before it gets infected," Gale states. Finnick winces, and clutches my hand tighter. Cressida looks down, anxious clearly evident in her face. "We need to get out of here. We can finish once we get aboveground, but right now we need to go." Pollux puts some gauze on the wound on his side, and helps me pull him up. He slumps in my arms, and Gale rushes over to my aid. "I've got him, you and Pollux lead the way."

Everyone is up on their feet, except for Peeta. He remains huddled against the wall; visibly shaking. I rush over to his side, overtaken by the need to keep everyone else alive. "Peeta we need to go." He shakes his head, pulling his knees closer to his body. "No! Leave me, I can't go on anymore." I shake my head, my anxiety growing. "No, you can go on. We need to leave, and we aren't going without you. Finnick is hurt, and we have to get above ground before he dies from blood loss." I say everything quietly and slowly, hoping my soothing tone will help him calm down.

"Katniss, just leave me," Peeta begs. I shake my head, refusing to leave anyone behind. He digs his wrists into his handcuffs, and its only then I realize how cut up his wrists are. I will have to clean them once we get out of here. I grip his wrists tightly, staring into his eyes. "Don't let him take you from me," I say.

He's panting and shaking his head now, and I squeeze his wrists to the point of pain. He takes a deep breath and the nods his head, and I help pull him up.

"How far to the street?" I ask Pollux. He indicates it's just above us. I climb the last ladder, looking down every now and then to see if everyone is still there. Beads of sweat have gathered on Finnick's forehead, and I can't even imagine the pain he must be enduring.

I push the lid open and enter somebody's utility room. I hold it open while everybody else climbs inside, and once everyone is in I close it quietly. Gale places Finnick on a white and cushioned couch, and his blood has already begun to seep into the lavish furniture. He's screaming in pain now, clutching his side. I rush to his side, grabbing the first-aid kit from Pollux. I pull out the clear liquid that Pollux dumped on his arm earlier, and squeeze his hand hard. "This is going to hurt." He takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes tightly as I open the lid. It's strong, so I won't have to pour too much. I gently tip the bottle over the huge gash, and right as it hits his skin he yells out in agony. I can hear the medicine sizzling against his flesh, the medicine forming white foam around the infected area.

He's clutching my hand so hard my fingers are turning white, but I hardly notice. I look over to Gale, who has a fresh bandage over his neck. "How does your neck feel?" I ask him. "It's fine, don't worry about it," he says gently. I nod my head, and the ask Pollux for some water. He brings a glass over to me, probably from the kitchen. I dig around the first-aid kit for some painkillers, and find two pills in a small plastic package. I rip it open, almost dropping the pills onto the carpet. "Here," I say gently. I place the pills in Finnick's hand, and he pops them in his mouth. I give him the water glass, and its only then I notice its intricate design. The cup is made of stained glass, a teal-green that reminds me of Finnick's eyes. Different layers of blues and greens decorate the cup, with icy shards of white scattered in certain places that can only replicate the ocean waves. Finnick clutches the cup tightly, the pills still in his mouth. Looking at the cup stirs something in him, and his eyes get this cloudy look that scares me to the point of tears. I shake our joined hands a little. "Finnick? Finnick, I need you to come back to me. You need to take the medicine." He stares at the cup intently, still unmoving. "Its just like home," he whispers.

He puts the glass to his lips and gulps down his pills, but he still holds the cup even after the water is drained. He starts shaking, so I search around in a closet by the door for a blanket. I find a thick one on the top shelf, but I can't reach it. Even on my tiptoes, my fingers barely brush the material. Gale comes up behind me and pulls it down easily. He hands it to me, smiling. "Cold?" he asks. I shake my head. "Its for Finnick," I say, pointing behind me. He smiles lightly, something I haven't seen him do lately. He reaches out and places his hand on my cheek, and I lean into the comfort. "You know, you're much better at healing than you think you are." I laugh lightly, shaking my head. He places a kiss on my forehead, and then returns to the living room.

I follow soon after, placing it on Finnick once I get there. Pollux has already put some bandages on his face and arms. I give Pollux a small smile of gratitude, and then walk over to the window that overlooks the street. "How long do you think we have before they figure out some of us are alive?" I ask to no one in particular. "They could be here at any time," Gale answers.

When I peer through the blinds, I find a bundled crowd of people going about their business. While we were underground, we had left the evacuated zones and surfaced in the more crowded section of the Capitol. The crowd offers our only means of escape, but I don't have to Holo. However, Cressida states that she knows where we are, and that we are only a few blocks away from the president's mansion.

I look back to my companions and realize they are in no shape for a stealth attack on Snow. Gale's blood has already begun to seep through his bandage, and Finnick is still in no condition to travel. Peeta is sitting on a velvet sofa with his teeth clamped on a pillow, containing a scream. While Cressida stands determinedly at my side, she's so pale her lips have lost all their color.

I glance over at Finnick, but as I look closer I notice that the familiar rise and fall of his chest is gone. "Finnick?" No response. I rush to the couch, tripping over my own feet. Finnick's eyes are closed, his lips parted. "He isn't breathing!" I yell. Gale and Pollux rush to my side, and Gale grabs his wrist, checking his pulse. I remember in the Quarter Quell, when Peeta hit the force field Finnick administered chest compressions to get his heart beating. I dig the heels of my hands into this chest and start pressing down hard and fast. "Please Finnick! Keep your heart beating!" Tears blur my vision, but I still keep pumping my hands into his chest. Gale yells something, directed at me or someone else I don't know. Sounds are muffled, and all I can focus on is keeping his heart beating.

Finnick's face has lost all color, his lips chapped and dry. I forget everyone around me, all of the people watching. I put my mouth to his, and blow air into his mouth, trying to get him to start breathing. I alternate between pumping his chest and blowing air into his mouth, my movements getting desperate. After a while I don't even blow air into his mouth anymore, I'm just frantically kissing him with my numb lips. I put my head to his chest, desperate for any sign of life.

I find nothing.

Gale wraps his arms around me, pulling me away from Finnick's body. I thrash and claw at him, desperate to get to Finnick. "No! Let me go!" I scream. "I need to save him! I need to save him!" Gale holds me tighter, encasing me in his arms. "You can't Katniss! He's gone!" I squirm hopelessly in his arms, looks of worry evident on everyone's faces. I'm too full of adrenaline to even feel embarrassed. After minutes of screaming and crying and clawing, I finally shut down. I immediately still, sitting on the floor with Gale's arms still around me. Everyone looks at each other with their eyebrows raised, probably disturbed by my behavior. I stay frigid in place, staring intently at Finnick, willing him to wake up.

"Katniss?" Gale asks softly. He tries to remove his arms from my body, but my arms are locked in place, so he stops trying. He sighs and sits closer to me. "Katniss, we need to go. He's gone." I don't say anything; I just stare at Finnick without even blinking. The couch cushions are almost completely red from his blood. I try to pretend that he's just sleeping, and that his cheeks will flush and he will open his eyes at any moment. But all of that is just wishful thinking. His glass is still in his hand, and I crawl over to him and try to pry it from his fingers, but they are frozen in place. A tear rolls down my cheek, and I wipe it away angrily. I place my hand on his chest, taking a last look at him. I try to catalog every one of his features in my mind, already in physical pain.

Right as I open my mouth to whisper goodbye, I feel something.

I feel a heart beat.

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**I know I couldn't emotionally handle Finnick's death, so I hope all of you people who were crushed by it like this alternate to what happened. I really hope you liked this chapter, I know I had a great time writing it. I would also like to thank everyone who favorited and reviewed and followed, it really makes my day. I hope you all like the extra long chapter I wrote, I'll get started on the next one soon. **

**Review please! I really appreciate it. If anyone wants a specific Everdair one-shot, tell me what you would like and I would love to incorporate your ideas into my stories.**


	4. Sinking Into the Sea

**Hey everyone. First, I would like to thank everyone who has taken the time to read this story, I have already reached over 700 views. Also a special thanks to everyone who took the time to favorite, follow, and review. I've also started getting some requests as well, so I will definitely try to get to them all. I would also like to let you know that I will be going to the beach for a week, so I won't be able to update. **

**Anyways, I hope you like this chapter!**

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I have never given much thought about how I would die. There are no more reasons to cling on, nobody left to hang onto. The will to live has long since left me; my fire is gone.

Sometimes I wonder if it was ever even there.

* * *

The water is at my ankles.

When I first met him I hated him more than I thought possible. He was too arrogant; too perfect. But I would be a liar if I said he wasn't beautiful.

But that's what people do. They lie.

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The water is at my calves.

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I thought he was going to kill me. I expected him to kill me. I think I even wanted him to kill me.

But that's what people do. They kill.

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They water is at my knees.

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I didn't know he was going to save me. I didn't know he would until he showed me the golden band around his wrist. I didn't want him to save me. Not because I wanted to die, but because I am long past rescuing. But he saved me anyway. Again and again and again. I hated him for it.

But that's what people do. They save each other.

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The water is at my thighs.

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He was always messing with that stupid piece of rope. He could tie knots for hours, without even looking up once. His hands were always peeling and raw, and I was always too scared to even touch them. He complicated my life. He made knots impossible to untie.

But that's what people do. They complicate things.

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The water is at my waist.

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I'm sure he would stare at my eyes for hours if I let him, but I was always the first one to look away. _"There's nothing interesting about my eyes_," I told him once. They were grey. Empty. Plain. They were missing the glassy fire people had so often told me was there. I didn't want him looking at my eyes. There was nothing to look at anyway.

But that's what people do. They look away.

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The water is at my stomach.

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His skin looked especially tanned against mine; the difference in shade almost funny. But when I looked at my pale fingers entwined with his, I knew it was right. What I felt then was something that could only be described as butterflies, but looking back I feel nothing. All the butterflies flew away.

But that's what feelings do. They fly away.

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The water is at my chest.

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He could clear his face of all emotion, but nothing left his eyes. The sea green in them constantly danced, no matter how much he tried to hide it. I was quite the opposite actually. My grey eyes lacked emotion. Maybe we balanced each other out. He still tried to hide anyway.

But that's what people do. They hide.

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The water is up to my neck.

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He told me he loved me. I said I didn't believe him. He grabbed me and said it again, but I pushed him away. I'm not worth loving. I'm not worth anything anymore.

But that's what people do. They love you anyway.

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My eyes are now level with the water, heat slowly leeching out of my body. Maybe if I just stayed here long enough I could just freeze to death.

The water is the same color as his eyes, and for a moment I pretend I am home, looking into his eyes. His eyes always made me feel safe. Maybe that's why I'm not afraid. Maybe that's why I'm not dead right now. Maybe it's because you can't drown in safety.

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I focus on the crimson red of my dress, but it blurs together with the water until I can't see anything anymore. I don't even remember what color is.

I take a deep breath, letting go of the petals piece by piece. I think of the first thing I want to forget. The first thing that comes to mind is his name, but I can't bring myself to let go yet. I think I can forget red. I remember so much red.

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I think of all the blood, and all the roses. That was easy for me to forget. Fire was harder; because it's so much harder to forget something you can barely remember.

I think of Cinna, and all of his dresses. My fingers brush the material of my dress; the one I found in the back of the closet. It sticks to my body, but in a comfortable way that feels like a hug. It was deep red, and it went just past my knees. No extravagance, no flames. Just red. I thought it was the best one he ever made.

I forgot I was even wearing it.

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I think of the woods. Green and lush. Safe and inviting. Where I could think or say anything, with only the trees to keep your secrets. The woods remind me of Gale. Both of those things I have trouble letting go of.

I do it anyway.

* * *

I think of Prim and Rue. My little birds. My duck and my mockingkay. So little and frail, yet so strong for their age. I exhale, ready to let them leave, but my breath sticks in my throat. They still linger, choking me. Tying me down. They are chains I need to break.

It physically pains me when I do.

* * *

I have nothing left to leave, but he still lingers in the back of my mind. Would it be so hard to leave with the extra attachment?

* * *

Yes.

* * *

I let them all go. They fly away with the rest of me, so all I have left to do is get rid of this body I am trapped in.

I slowly undo my braid, unwinding all of the knots and twists. I let my hair fall in damp waves, and it sits like black fire in the water.

The sun is higher up in the sky, the sea flicking diamonds of light into my eyes. I allow myself to take one peek at the sky, but it takes sheer will to look away from the sand. I tear my eyes from the rolls of grainy white, and stare out into the horizon. I slowly sink my head into the water, submerging my head. I keep my eyes shut, and hold my breath for 5 seconds. My hair is fanning out around my face, tickling my cheeks.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

I don't bother counting to five.

Patience was something I lacked.

* * *

I slowly push all of the air out of my lungs, a flurry of bubbles bouncing along my nose and forehead. Once all air is stolen from my lungs, I wait for the salty burn to take its place in my lungs.

A pressing sensation begins in my chest, as if my lungs are folding in on themselves. The hunger for air is overwhelming, but I ignore it. Fire soon begins to crawl up from my stomach to my chest, and I clutch the hem of my dress tightly.

Fear settles in the pit of my stomach, but I don't bother pretending to be brave.

Light suddenly burns heavily against my eyelids, and I'm too scared to open my eyes. Then I'm swaying. Probably the current. But it is not a swaying I'm feeling, but more of a jostling. I feel fingers digging into the sides of my arms, but I keep my eyes and mouth clamped shut.

The fire is a steady inferno now, and my body craves oxygen. The need to breathe suddenly becomes too much, so I take a huge gulp of air. Water is soon leaving my mouth and nose, and my throat feels like sandpaper.

I still keep my eyes closed.

I hear crying. I can't tell if its me, or someone else. Maybe both.

I'm terrified, but I open my eyes.

I see the eyes I fell in love with. No, the eyes I had once _been_ in love with. Finnick is clutching me tightly, sobbing into my hair into the crook of my neck. His fist bundles into my hair, and he crushes me against him. I'm too shocked to do or say anything, so my body is limp in his arms. My nose and throat are on fire, and I take the opportunity to let out a little cough. "Oh my god…" he sobs. His voice is muffled against my hair, but his crying rings loudly in my ears. I curl my toes into the squishy sand, flinching when one of my toes catches on a stray shell.

Finnick pulls away abruptly, taking my face in his hands. "Oh my god Katniss. Are you ok? Are you hurt?" His hands poke and probe at my shoulders and face, his eyes searching for an explanation.

I try to sink deeper into the water, but he holds me in place. I try to remove his hands from my arms but he won't budge.

"I wanted to die," I whisper.

"What?" he says.

Saying it out loud stirred something in me, and I instantly burst into tears. Finnick looks even more alarmed, because his eyes widen in fear. I'm sobbing and gasping now, feebly attempting to dunk my head in the water once more. He scoops me up and cradles my head against his chest, but I'm pushing against him, trying to get away. "Please just let me go," I sob. He responds by pulling me tighter against him, his legs sloshing in the waves as he carries me closer to the shore. I still continue to squirm against him, my gasping sobs becoming shallow, raspy breaths.

I bury my head into Finnick's soggy shirt, breathing in the salty scent he always carries with him. He slows once we reach the shore, and then gently places me on the sand. My teeth begin to chatter, and goose bumps run up my arms and legs. He crouches next to me, and cups my chin in his hands. I look down, refusing to meet his gaze. "I'm going to get you a blanket ok? I'm just going to run inside, please…please just stay here and don't do anything ok? I'll be right back." He places a kiss on my head and then runs off, back into the house. I stare back at the ocean, and contemplate running back into its arms. I slowly stand up, taking one step towards the ocean. The waves are calling to me, beckoning. I slowly take small steps towards the water, but the closer I get, the sicker I feel. I stop three feet away from the water, and dig my toes into the sand.

I hear the sound of feet against sand, and look down at my feet. Finnick comes up behind me, draping the blanket on my shoulders. I stiffen at first, but then grasp the edge of the blanket with my fingertips, pulling it closer to my body. I sit down, ignoring my proximity to the ocean. Finnick eases down into the sand next to me, so we remain shoulder to shoulder. Our fingers are inches apart, and I smile at the familiar tan of his hands. After all of this time spent in District 4, I haven't even darkened in shade. "What are you smiling about?" Finnick asks gently. I shake my head and look down at the sand.

Tears start pricking my eyes, and my bottom lip trembles. The Games have ruined me. They have ruined everything. Finnick looks over at me, neither of us acknowledging my tears. I self-consciously wipe them with the back of my hand-I have done enough crying for today.

I place my head on Finnick's shoulder, and he wraps his arms around my waist. I breathe in the smell of mint and the sea, bunching a little bit of his shirt in my fist. Its then when I realize I have one more reason to hand on. I have one more person to hang onto.

* * *

And I don't plan on ever letting go.

* * *

**Thanks for reading, I'll update as soon as I get home. **

**Review please! Its very appreciated. Thanks again! Oh, and sorry for the strangeness of the chapter, its kind of a downer but I thought it would be interesting.**


	5. Cerulean

**Hey guys. I know you all probably want to murder me for not updating, but I have a good excuse. It's an evil thing called school. Now that summer is over, I won't be able to update as often, but I'll try my best and write as often as I can. I've been having an epic writers block lately, but I'm back in the game, and ****ready to write. Thanks you guys!**

* * *

She was born 3 weeks early. The doctors thought she wouldn't make it. I almost started to believe it too.

Almost.

Right when she was born, the doctors whisked her away before I could even get a glimpse of her. They had to sedate me due to my frantic screaming. I was overwhelmed by this need- a hunger to see my child. But they kept me under lock and key, with only the melodic beeping of the machines to keep my company.

I didn't eat, or sleep. I even refused pain medication. The physical pain could hardly compare to my emotional turmoil. I just sat straight as a pole, anxiously staring at the door. Waiting for my little baby to enter.

3 days later, I considered unhooking myself from the machines and wandering around the hospital until I found her. It was in the dead of night Finnick crept in, kneeling next to my bed. I clutched his hand tightly, shudders racking my body. "Is she ok?" Finnick squeezed my hand back, smiling.

"She's beautiful," he whispered.

I made a choking sound, and covered my smile with my hand. Tears welled up in my eyes, endless relief washing over me. My baby is ok. My baby is safe.

I wiped my tears with the back of my hand, pulling the sheets off my legs. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, but Finnick grabbed my shoulders, looking perplexed. "What are you doing?"

"I want to see her," I said flatly.

He chuckled lightly, and I glared at him. "You can't see her yet, Katniss."

I shook my head, frustrated that he didn't understand.

"You'll see her tomorrow, I promise." Finnick gave me a small smile, and kissed my cheek. He started to stand up, but I pulled him back down. "Wait. Don't leave me," I said. He pulled away anyway, but crossed the room to get a chair and carried it over next to me. He plopped down in it, and he took my hand again. "I'm not going anywhere," he whispered.

Finnick had stayed with me the whole night, and he dozed off a few hours later. We had spent hours whispering to each other, excitedly talking about our little baby. I smiled at the ceiling, content. The dark was so much more comfortable when you had someone to share it with.

At around 5 in the morning, I found myself counting down the minutes to the sunrise. It would officially be tomorrow, and I planned on seeing my baby as soon as the sun slipped over the horizon. Finnick still had his hand in mine, and I squeezed it lightly to wake him up. He squinted at the light change in the room, and brushed his thumb over my knuckles. "It's tomorrow," I pointed out.

"Indeed it is."

She was still sleeping, so I waited until she woke up. Finnick left to go get her, and I was almost bouncing in anticipation. I ran my fingers through my knotted hair, rubbing my tired eyes. Each minute dragged on slowly, and I hardly found relief in counting the seconds down like I usually did. I clutched the sheets in my fists tightly, wiggling my toes. I was losing my patience, knots forming and folding in my stomach.

I sighed through my nose, and glanced around the room for something to preoccupy myself with. Nothing. The walls were empty and bare. I crossed my arms in frustration.

Finnick walked in.

He was smiling down at our baby, wrapped in a plethora of blankets. I stretched my arms out, my fingers twitching in anticipation.

As soon as she was in my arms, I pulled her flush against my chest, nuzzling my nose against her face. She gave a tiny yawn, but other than that she remained absolutely silent. She was so light, I'm sure she barely reached seven pounds. Her eyes were bright and alert, a twinkling shade of cerulean. All of the names we had thought of earlier were forgotten, for I already knew what I would name her.

She grabbed a lock of my hair in her little hand, and placed it in her mouth. I laughed quietly, tears blurring my eyes. All of my pains and worries had vanished; my thoughts left me. All I could think of was my little baby girl. My little fighter. My little Cerulean.

As she got older, I began to take notice of the traits Finnick and I had passed onto her, a perfect combination of both of us. Her skin quickly grew dark due to her long days in the sun, and she had the same sense of humor and easy-going nature as Finnick. She took after my dark hair, but her steely blue eyes were something completely of her own.

Finnick and I never spoke of the Games, but we knew at some point we would need to tell her. Finnick was more skeptical than I was, but somehow, I knew she was strong enough to handle it.

It was kind of funny actually. Two broken people creating someone so strong. It was like two halves finally coming together, putting the last puzzle piece into the picture.

It was finally good again.

One of the memorials was built in District 4. I had steered clear of it, so I didn't even know what it looked like. I didn't want reminders.

She asked me about it, wondering what it was for. At the tender age of 6, I knew all I could do was lie.

Finnick came home one day, with Cerulean hunched in his arms. His eyes were tired, and he nodded down at her, sighing. "She went too deep," he started. He set her down gently, her wiry arms hanging limp at her sides. She avoided my gaze. "What happened?" I said gently, struggling to keep my voice even. Cerulean then looked up at me, that familiar light of curiosity flashing across her eyes for a moment. "I thought…I thought I saw something," she said. A noticed a small smile playing across her lips, and I knew she didn't regret what she did.

This only made me more curious.

"What did you see?" I asked. A huge grin broke across her face; her eyes alight with excitement. "Oh it was amazing! I thought I saw a sea turtle in the water, so I started to follow it. I read about them in my books, but I had never seen one in person and-"

"And then you swam a little too far," Finnick interrupted.

She made a sound of exasperation, and threw Finnick a pointed look that I couldn't help but laugh at. "I didn't even swim that far!" she huffed. I smiled and brushed a damp lock of hair from her forehead, shaking my head. "Be more careful next time, ok?" She nods her head meekly, but her eyes still dance with excitement.

I laughed again, actually beginning to wonder if I ever saw a sea turtle in person either.

I grasp Finnick's hand tighter, looking him directly in the eye. Cerulean was now 14, and we had decided to answer her string of questions. Answer everything. Explain everything.

No matter how much we didn't want to.

She still stands in the same position, arms folded across her chest. Finnick has a pained look on his expression, and her face immediately softens. "I'm sorry. I…I didn't mean what I said. I was just frustrated, and I got angry. I'm sorry." I close my eyes for a moment, swallowing the fear climbing up my throat. It wasn't a time to be scared. Not right now.

The time for fear was over, but I think it takes more bravery to remember fear, rather than to live through it.

"Ok," I say.

I start the day of the Reaping.

* * *

**Ok, as I was re-reading this I noticed that this chapter totally sucked. I mean, I'm only 13, so I don't know what being a mother is like or anything. I hope you guys liked it, and I will try to get all of your requests in my story. Thanks for reading guys! **


	6. Poetry

**Hey guys, I would just like to start by saying thank you. Everyone has been giving me really kind reviews, and it makes me so happy to know that you all like my writing. It kind of inspired me to write an extra-long chapter. I hope you guys like it!**

* * *

I glare at the floor, uncrossing my legs. Frankly, manners are the last thing on my mind. Everything is going too fast. I have long since stopped paying attention to the interviews, my focus now trained on the timed buzzer. The cheering of the crowd is just a low hum, and for a second I'm back in the Games, trapped a pit of my own orange, bubbly, hallucinations. I shake my head a little. Not real.

I don't know what I'm going to say. For a moment I forget what my name is. Everything has lost importance; even my own life.

_Peeta._ Peeta is important. Peeta's life is all that matters. _Peeta._ I silently chant. _Peeta._ That's why I'm here. _Peeta_. The name becomes a mantra in my head, repeating itself over and over and over again. _Peeta. Peeta. Peeta_. His name forms on my lips, and soon I'm quietly mumbling his name. _Peeta. Peeta. Peeta._ I sing the words to myself until its foreign in my mouth, my lips clamping shut once again.

The buzzer goes off, making me jump. Peeta reaches over and grabs my hand, squeezing it. I hardly feel his hand in mine at all.

I look up to see who is now being interviewed, and I see its Finnick. I think I actually see some women in the crowd faint, and I almost snort at how ridiculous they are.

Meaningless mumbling flies in and out of my ear, until the words involuntarily stick.

"Now Finnick, I believe you have a poem that you prepared," Caesar says. Finnick nods his head curtly, and folds and unfolds his fingers a bit. Almost like he's…embarrassed. No, not embarrassed. More like nervous.

A hush falls over the crowd, and I see every woman leaning out of their chair so much it looks like they will fall out if they move any further.

"My love…you have my heart for all of eternity," Finnick says quietly. "And if I die in that arena…my last thought will be of your lips," he finishes. I think I see some girls faint, sure that the poem was meant for them. I honestly don't know what to think of it. They're just words. Meaningless words.

When Finnick sits back down in his spot, I find myself glancing over at him every few seconds. I find him doing the same thing too. I notice that his eyes are red. I look away.

5, 6, 7, 8. As the numbers grow higher, so does my anxiety. It is then when it dawns on me that I have nothing left. No more reason to live, when I was hardly surviving. No more reason to love, when I will just end up dying. Peeta is the one thing I have left. He needs to be the one walking out alive.

When Caesar calls my name, I am monetarily shaken out of my daze. I plaster on a fake smile, keeping in mind that getting sponsors will benefit Peeta. Words are thrown at me, I throw them back. I find Cinna in the dark sea of he audience, and see him make a little spinning motion with his finger. I stand up and begin to spin Smoke curls around me, and for a moment I think I'm actually on fire. The pearly white fabric of my dress burns away into cindery black feathers, the outfit now soft and light on my body. It almost feels like I'm wearing nothing at all. I spread my arms out, and feathers and fabric drape from my arms like the wings of a bird.

A new sensation bubbles up inside of me. Something that is hardly dimmed with the shocked hush of the crowd, or the appalled look on the other tributes' faces. A surge of confidence builds up inside of me. This feels different. New even. I wasn't sparkling, or frilly, or dizzy, or really anything at all. I was a bird, weightless and free. I finally feel the grace that Effie was tirelessly trying to pound into me. But this feels something entirely of my own. And, though not surprisingly, Cinna was the one who finally managed to uncover it.

My eyes widen.

_"So I only end up hurting myself." _The realization of what Cinna has done washes over me, and dread racks my body to the point where I think I might fall over. I throw Cinna a desperate glance, but I can't read his expression. _"What have you done?"_ I try to say to him silently.

I think back to Gale, rambling on about the rebellion, and how it has already been set in motion. But this was back in District 12. Safe in the privacy of the woods. But then again, I still wonder if the woods were all that private.

But that was _then._ That was just talk of the rebellion. But this? This is about as rebellious as you could possibly get. This isn't about showing up the Capitol, or making a mockery of Snow. This is about protecting my loved ones, and currently, I haven't been doing a very good job. Cinna will surely pay for what he is done, and whatever happens will be my fault. Caesar congratulates him on his work, and Cinna makes a small bow. "Best of luck Katniss," Caesar says quietly. I don't even know if the cameras caught it, the crowd has been loudly cheering and clapping relentlessly. I give him a small smile, silently wondering where he stands in all of this.

I sit back down; watching Peeta carefully as he slowly makes his way to the interview chair. I glance over at Finnick, who I notice is staring at me. That's when I remember my big scene with my dress. I look down self-consciously.

As I wait in the elevator, I try to replay the moments in my head. I'm pregnant. Of course this is a lie, but it still makes me shudder thinking about it. Going into the arena with a child would change things drastically. Even if the supposed child is fake. Though impossible, I hold onto the small shred of hope that they would cancel the Games this year.

I quickly rid myself of the thought.

The capitol has no problem killing children anyway.

I shiver in my airy dress, rubbing my hands over my arms. When I look down, I see some shiny black feathers have fallen to the floor. _"Like a plucked bird," _I think to myself. I laugh at how ironic it is.

"What are you laughing about?" I look up again, and see Finnick leaning against the glass wall of the elevator. I forgot he was even here.

I squint my eyes; the blurred lines making everything seem softer and less confusing. "I was laughing at this," I say, pointing to the feathers. Finnick nods his head slowly, as if he is trying to comprehend what I had just said. Soon, we reach floor number four, and Finnick gives me a small smile before stepping out of the elevator. I cross my arms and lean back against the wall, the cool glass sending a small shudder up my back.

* * *

I step into the shower, and turn the cold water on. The icy droplets feel like cold pellets against my back, but my whole body is hot, and the last thing I need is to be assaulted with warm water when all I really need is to cool down. I ignore all of the soaps and shampoos, running my fingers through my damp hair once and then turning off the shower completely. Even in the Capitol, where all recourses are unlimited, I still feel the need to conserve the water. Force of habit I suppose.

Once I get out, I slip on a nightshirt and pants, and lay down on top of the covers.

When I wake up, I glance over at the clock on my nightstand and see it has only been 2 hours. I lie in bed for a while, shifting positions, slipping in and out of the covers, until I finally decide to just get up. I open the door, wincing once the door clicks when I unlock it. I tiptoe through the apartment, slipping out quietly.

The shaggy rug of the hallway floor tickles the soles of my feet as I walk towards the roof access. I shove open the door, no longer caring about being quiet. A blast of cool air hits me, and I almost sigh with relief. When I look over the edge of the roof, I see more people milling about than I did in the daytime. I shake my head, unable to understand the strange ways of these people.

I plop down a few feet away from the edge of the roof, listening to the humming of the invisible force field and the tinkling of the wind chimes in the garden.

The door swings open, and I jump in surprise. Finnick emerges from behind, looking slightly sheepish. "Sorry, I didn't know you were up here," he says. I don't say anything, but he keeps talking anyway. "Shouldn't you be in bed? What are you doing out this late anyway?" I glare at him, growing impatient.

He chuckles, shaking his head. He sits down next to me, never shifting his gaze off of my face. I shift uncomfortably.

"You looked beautiful tonight." I stare back at him, confused. "What?" I ask. He smirks a little. "I said, you looked beautiful last night. Can't you take a compliment?" I sigh through my nose. "Yes." No. I look at my feet, and pick at the edge of my pants.

"Why are you up here?" I finally ask. Finnick looks down as well, and mutters, "I couldn't sleep." I nod my head, understanding what that was like. I look down at his hands, and notice little red cuts along the edge of his palm and down the sides of his fingers. Unthinkingly, I grab his hand. "What happened to your hands?" I ask. I examine his fingers, wondering what he could have done to cause it.

He reaches into his pocket with his free hand, pulling out a tattered piece of rope. I look at it questioningly, but he shoves it back in his pocket. His hand is limp in mine, and I let go of his fingers. A small blush creeps up my cheeks, and I mentally slap myself for acting so stupid.

Suddenly, Finnick reaches over and plucks something from my hair. He twirls a little black feather between his thumb and forefinger, smiling. "You had a feather in your hair," he states. I pull my knees close to my chest, and Finnick puts the feather on my knee. I leave it.

"You had an interesting poem," I blurt out. Finnick suddenly stiffens, and I immediately regret saying that. After a while, he smiles, but his body is still tense. "Who was it for?" I almost whisper.

Finnick doesn't say anything.

"It doesn't matter," he begins. "I'm going to die anyway."

Him saying this brings tears to my eyes. I grab his wrist, holding it tightly. "If you're going to die," I say. "…then live as long as you can."

I can't let anyone but Peeta win. I can't. I can't. I can't.

I look down and realize I've been squeezing Finnick's wrist too hard. I loosen my fingers, but don't let go.

* * *

A balmy breeze rustles my hair, tickling my cheeks. I open my eyes, and find my head in Finnick's lap. He plays with the ends of my hair, unaware that I'm awake. It's still dark out, so I assume an hour or so has passed. Suddenly, I'm hoisted up, Finnick holding me close to his chest. I open my mouth to protest, but no sound comes out. I just place my head against is shirt, breathing in his smell, and sigh through my nose.

My eyelids are heavy and begin to droop, but I force myself to keep my eyes open. I sway in Finnick's arms as he pushes the door to my room open, but he still keeps a firm hold. Once we enter my bedroom, he walks over to my bed, pushing the covers aside and gently dropping me on the bed. I pull the blankets over my shoulders, watching him carefully. He gives my arm an affectionate pat, and gets up off of the bed. He quietly walks towards the door. "Finnick?" I whisper. My eyes are now closed, but I still manage to stay awake. "Who did you write that poem for?" I open my eyes a little, looking through my eyelashes.

I see him smile.

He leaves.

* * *

**Hey everyone, I hope you liked the chapter. Reviews are really appreciated, I would love to know what you all think and if anyone would want a specific one shot. Thanks again everyone!**

**Oh, and also, I will be starting a new Divergent fanfic once I finish this one, so if anyone is a fan of Veronica Roth or the Divergent series you should definitely check it out once I get started with it.**

**Thanks again! :)**


	7. Rope Flowers

**Ugh, I'm so so sorry for taking so long to update. I seriously hate school sometimes, it gets in the way of everything. This chapter is long and just total word vomit. I'll do better about updating. I pinkie swear. School is just so...UGH.**

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I watch Finnick from the other side of the room. He sits across from Johanna, slowly nodding every now and then. He doesn't touch his food, and I scowl. People are starving all over the Districts, and Finnick has the nerve to turn up his nose to a good meal?

I frown a little harder.

Johanna, however, has already consumed 2 servings of food, manically waving her arms around as she rambles on about who-knows-what. Finnick catches me staring, and smiles a little bit. I take notice of his deep-set dimples. He's too pretty. In the sort of way that makes you want to grimace at the fakeness.

Peeta tugs at my sleeve, and I redirect my attention towards him. "Ok?" he asks. I nod my head.

Peeta gives me a sad sort of look, his eyes clouding over with worry. He takes my hand in his, warming up my icy fingers. His thumb traces the inside of my palm, and I let my eyes flutter closed.

I don't know how long we stay like this, but when Peeta squeezes my hand I open my eyes. The cafeteria is almost empty, and I see the other tributes exiting towards the training room. I stand up, still holding Peeta's hand.

I plan on holding onto it as long as possible.

Inside of the training room, tributes have already begun to mill about. Enobaria and Brutus hack away at the plastic dummies, and Cashmere and Gloss throw spears at targets. Johanna stands on the other side of the room, smirking at me. Peeta stares longingly at the camouflage station, and I slide my fingers out of his hand. He places a kiss on the tip of my nose and walks away.

I stay in place, still not sure what to do or where I should go. I look over at the archery station, and the different arrays of bows and arrows.

I don't argue when my feet lead me there.

The bow feels a little bit heavier than my old one, but I tell myself I'll get used to it. My fingers dig into the rubbery grip, trying to get accustomed to the squishy feel. The arrows, however, are extremely light and slim. I fumble with it a little until I notch it onto the string. My toes curl in my boots, and when I glance to the side I see Finnick watching me. He sits on the floor up against a wall, tying and untying a piece of rope.

I tear my eyes away from him, blush rising in my cheeks. If he was sitting there for as long as I think he was, he definitely saw me fumbling with my bow. I steal one last glance at him, catching a small smirk. My palms grow slick with sweat, and tears threaten to spill over. I scowl, disgusted with myself. I direct my attention towards the array of different sized targets in front of me, leveling my arms with the floor. I slowly pull the arrow back, my bow flexing underneath my fingers with the tension. I pinch the arrow tighter in my fingers, pushing the equipment to the limit. I take in a deep lungful of air, keeping it in.

Suddenly, Finnick clears his throat, and I flinch.

The metal tip of the arrow lodges itself in the wood.

But when I look closer, I see that it didn't hit the center.

It didn't even hit the target.

The arrow had lodged itself into the wall, over eight feet away from the targets.

Finnick explodes into laughter, and I throw my bow onto the floor.

I storm out of the training room, running through the twisted corridors until I reach a dead end. I kick the wall, and slump to the floor. I rip my hair out of its braid, desperately chipping the leftover nail polish from my many makeovers. Tears blur my vision as my tangled hair covers my face in a dark curtain. I resort to raking my fingers across the carpeted floor, trying to dig a hole in the ground that I can hide in forever.

When I look up, I see Finnick standing at the end of the hallway. He looks at me for a moment- almost like he was contemplating something- and he walked away. I push the heels of my hands into my eyes. I had finally snapped. I had finally become a twisted victor. Victor wasn't even the right term for it. I was a survivor. But how can I say I'm surviving, when I'm barely living?

I'm an accident.

That's the word.

An accident.

The next day, I avoid the archery station completely. I stick to re-learning the different arrays of plants, surprised to find a few I couldn't name. I clung to Peeta's side the whole time, never letting go of his hand. He threw me sad glances every now and then, but I averted my eyes.

Finnick didn't look or speak to me. I hardly had any choice in the matter, because I almost never saw him. I haven't ever heard of a tribute being excused from training, but who knows what "extra privileges" Finnick receives.

I shudder.

As Peeta and I sit side by side at the camouflage station, I see that Johanna isn't present either. I must have been lost in thought, because Peeta tugs on my sleeve. "Ok?" he asks. This time I shake my head, because I am anything but 'ok'.

He stands up, leaving the hunk of metal he was painting half finished. He must have been painting trees, because different shades of brown and grey seem to pop out in such a realistic way it almost scared me.

He takes my hand, and starts waking towards the rack of bow and arrows. I stop immediately, and Peeta was yanked back. "What do you think you're doing?" I whisper. "I want you to shoot," he says. I shake my head, frustrated he doesn't understand. "I don't want to," I say. He smiles a little bit. "Well, I want you to." He starts pulling on my hand again, but this time I follow him.

I look over my shoulder every five seconds, checking to see if anyone is watching me. I'm relieved to be greeted by Mags' smile. I give her a small smile back, and she nods at me. Peeta loosens his fingers, but I grip his hand tighter. He chuckles softly. "You need both hands to do this Katniss." I look at our joined hands, and then reluctantly let go. I release a breath I hadn't realized I was holding and grab a set of arrows.

My arms feel heavy, and I struggle to keep my eyes focused on the target. I take a deep breath, focusing on leveling my bow with the floor. I don't pull back as hard this time, and take one last glance at the target.

The red dot seems farther away than ever.

I sigh through my nose, and I close my eyes. I release the arrow, my fingertips vibrating with anticipation. I don't open my eyes, even after I hear the tip of the arrow burying into the target. Eventually, Peeta tugs on my braid and I open my eyes. He points to the target, smiling.

I didn't hit the wall this time.

I hit the target.

Dead center.

I allow myself to smile a little bit, but I stop almost immediately. Over half of the tributes have stopped what they are doing to gawk at me. I quickly put my bow and arrows on the rack with the others, taking Peeta's hand again. I start tugging him towards the station with knot tying. "Let's go over there," I say softly.

The instructor at the knot trying station was very quiet, and smiled a lot. I decided I liked her. I sat cross-legged on the floor next to Peeta, trying to master a knot that left opponents dangling by one foot from a tree. I ended up pulling too tight, so I get a mess of tangles rope. I sigh, exasperated. I throw the knot, grabbing another, thinner piece of rope so I can try again. Suddenly, the sickly sweet smell of lavender and sea-salt fills my nose.

The smell is so strong, I almost gag. I look up, and see Finnick less than three feet away from me. He has already started untying my knot, his nimble fingers pulling and twisting my jumble of rope. I open my mouth to say something, but no words come out. I look over at Peeta, but he is deep in conversation with the instructor. I purse my lips, and then go back to my knot.

I breathe through my mouth.

Five minutes later, Finnick startles me by saying, "I think you're pulling it under instead of over."

"What?" I say. Finnick rolls his eyes a little, as if the answer is obvious. "Try pulling it over instead of under when you get to the third slip knot," he says softly. I look down at my rope, and start to slowly undo the mistakes in my knots. Once I start over, I follow his advice. Pulling over instead of under. Ten minutes later, I have finished my knot completely, grinning as I take in the completed work. I look over to Finnick, and I see him smiling at me too. But when I look at his hands, my eyes widen. Folded gently in his fingers is a complicated mass of twists and twirls. When I look closer, I see that it's a flower. All of the loops bundle closely together, mimicking the petals of a daisy. They all join together in a tight bundle in the middle, an array of coiled springs of rope.

"That won't help you win the Games," I say pointedly. I mentally slap myself for saying something so insensitive, and before I can apologize he places on the floor next to me. He scooches towards me a little bit, and I resist the urge to move away from him. He reaches over and picks up a new piece of rope, and starts to make another flower. I place my knot on the ground next to him, and take another piece of rope from the pile.

I watch his fingers closely, trying to copy what he is doing. It takes a few tries, but eventually I figure out how to make a petal. With my new knowledge, I repeat the process until I have a bunch of petals. However, I have no idea how he gets them to all join in the middle, and I don't know if I can figure it out without seeing him do it. I look over to Finnick again, but he has already finished his second flower. It's a little smaller than the first one, but it has more petals. He takes another piece of rope, starting another flower.

This time, I'm the one who moves closer. That way, I can see how to get the petals to join in the middle.

After watching Finnick make his set of petals, I pay extra close attention to how he joins them in the middle. He starts so fast, I don't even catch what he did. He looks up at me, and then down at my un-joined petals. Undoes his first not, lifting his wrists a little so I can see it better.

He does it again, except slower this time. Each time he starts of finishes a coil or knot, he looks at my hands to see if I have it completed. If I don't he does it again so I get it right. Once we finish, we place both of our flowers on the floor, underneath our other two ropes. We pick up new piece of rope at the same time. This time, I don't have to look at his hands to make my flower.

He doesn't lift his wrists so I can see better, and he doesn't check on me now and then to see if I have tied my knots correctly. I think he does this because he knows I have it right.

Eventually, we sit close enough that our knees are touching. We have an array of different sized flowers at our feet, but we don't stop making them until the tribute begin to head back to their apartments. We stand up at the same time, but Finnick bends down and picks up the smallest flower. He places it in my hand, and then walks away.

I look down at the floor, and count all of the flowers we have made. Twenty-three. Next to the small meadow of rope, my nearly failed knot sits on the edge of the pile. Different from all the rest. I sigh through my nose, and pick it up. The training room is empty, with the exception of the instructors cleaning up. I leave the training room, my body suddenly feeling a lot colder without Finnick by my side.

In the elevator, I clutch the flower tightly in my hand. I reach out to press the 'twelve' button, but something stops me. With a shaky hand, I press the fourth floor button instead.

The elevator moves slowly, but I don't enjoy the ride like I usually do. Instead, my stomach is in knots and anxiety is racking my body. When the doors finally do slide open, I chew my lip.

I don't think I want to see Finnick anymore.

Once I reach my floor, I almost run to my apartment. I throw the door open and run into my room. I jump onto my bed, and bury my face into one of the silky pillows. I stuff the flower inside of the pillowcase.

Eventually, sleep takes me.

When I wake up, the sun has already begun to set. I can't move any part of my body. The nightmares that have haunted my mind still paralyze me, and I grind my teeth together in order to keep from screaming. I bury my face into my pillow, but the visions of the monsters that hide in the deepest recesses of my mind still burn into my eyelids. I call Peeta's name, but it sticks in my throat. I don't know how long this icy terror clings to me, but Peeta runs into my room and jumps on the bed. He scoops me up into his arms, shushing me and petting my hair. I make a weak attempt at shoving him away, feeling embarrassed he always has to find me like this. He holds me tighter, planting little kisses on my cheeks and forehead. He doesn't wipe my tears away, but he runs into the bathroom to get a tissue to wipe my nose.

He holds the tissue to my nose, and I push all of the air into it. He throws it away, and he start to plant little kisses on my face again. "Ok…ok…ok," he whispers in between kisses. Eventually I start to calm down, but my breath still comes out in choppy gasps. I pull my knees to my chest, and Peeta holds me as I curl into my little ball.

Thirty minutes later, the only remnants of my tears stick to my cheeks and Peeta's shirt. "Let's clean you up ok?" Peeta says gently. I nod my head meekly, reluctant to leave my position. Peeta stands up, and I follow suit. He sets up the shower in the bathroom as I stand quietly in the doorway. He walks over to me, holding my upper arms tightly. "I'll be just outside the door ok?" he says as he grips my arms tighter. He lets go before it can start hurting, and I nod my head. He leaves, shutting the door quietly behind him. I peel off my tear-stained clothes, and step into the warm shower. I stand stiffly, my body still sore from being curled up for so long.

The smell of vanilla calms me, and I try to take deep breaths. Warm water runs down my face and arms, and I lean my head back so I can soak my hair. I trace the square tiles on the wall with my finger, the cool stone sending soothing chills up my arm.

Even once my fingers start to get wrinkly, I stay in the shower. I turn the heat up so I'm covered in a blanket of steam. I turn the water as hot as I can bare, the burning shards of water stinging my back. "Katniss?" I hear Peeta say. His voice is muffled, but I hear it nonetheless. I hear the door open, and I press myself closer to the shower wall. I'm not ready to get out, and I don't plan on leaving until I do.

"Katniss? Do you want to get out now?" I shake my head, but I know he can't see me. "I don't think so," I say. He pauses for a moment; the only sound in the room was the hissing of the burning water. "Ok," he says. I hear footsteps, and the door shuts once again.

"Ok," I say to myself.

Ok.

The shower floor had a rubbery mat to keep me from slipping. The silicon bumps tickled the soles of my feet, and eventually I sat down. I pulled my knees to my chest, and hugged myself. Water mercilessly pounded into the top of my head, streams clear water gushing down the sides of my face and nose. It burned, but in the kind of way that makes you want to wake up.

My arms, however, seemed to be a different story. Patches of red painted the sides of my forearms, some of my skin peeling off. On my thighs, there were thin pink lines raked across the surface. I brushed my fingers over my abused skin, having no memory of scratching myself raw. I closed my eyes and rubbed the heels of my hands over my thighs, desperate to undo the self-harm.

I think it was when I started sobbing Peeta came in.

When the water was shut off, I shivered from the loss of contact with my stinging shower. Peeta wrapped me in a fluffy white towel nearly twice my size, and he scooped me up in a ball and carried me to my bed. He wiped the stray tears from my eyes, pulling a blanket over my body. The towel was now damp and warm, my arms and thighs still burning. Peeta brushed the back of his hand over my collarbone, dragging it down my arm. That's when I remember the red patches of irritated skin. I draw the towel over my arms, burrowing deeper into the bed. Peeta settles himself on top of me, but supports his weight by holding himself up on his forearms. I feel claustrophobic in a nice sort of way. In the sort of way that makes you want to huddle in a little cocoon and never come out.

Its only a few minutes later when Peeta starts to sit up. The loss of contact was almost painful, and I instinctively grabbed his wrist to keep him from leaving. He laughs a little, unlatching my fingers from his wrist. "We should probably get you some clothes," he says gently. I wrap my towel closer to my body, the fabric now soggy and cold. Color rises in my cheeks, and I suddenly feel extremely self-conscious. "I'll be in the living room," Peeta says. I nod my head, and force myself to sit up. The shifting in position hurts my things, but I grit my teeth and endure the pain. I'm sure I could find some kind of lotion in the bathroom later. With my towel still draped over my shoulders, I walk over to my drawer. I have left a huge wet spot on the bed, the pillow I was laying on completely sodden. When I look out the window, I see that it's nearly nighttime. Tomorrow would be the last day of training.

I shudder.

After I pull on a dark green shirt and black leggings, I walk into the living room. Haymitch lies sprawled on the couch, and Peeta sits on one of the armchairs. He nurses a glass of water. When Peeta takes notice of me, he sets his glass down on the coffee table. He stands up and hugs me, burying his face in my tangled hair. I self-consciously tug at the ends, wishing I had brushed my hair. "Do you want anything to eat?" Peeta asks. Haymitch lets out a loud snore before I can answer.

I smile.

"No, I'm fine."

The next day went by in a blur. Breakfast was strangely quiet other than Haymitch's stories of his encounters with sponsors. Before we leave to go to training, I run into my room to grab the flower I stuffed in my pillowcase. I slip it in my pocket, feeling much more complete with it there. When we get to the training room, I immediately go to the archery station. While the instructor busies himself with explaining the shooting procedures to Cashmere, I pick up a set of arrows and a bow.

I see Finnick across the room speaking quietly with Mags, and I smile to myself. I pat my pocket, relieved to feel the familiar lump of the rope flower. I pull the string back extra slowly this time, feeling the familiar tension in my hands and fingers. I take note of the sharp thinness of the arrows, the warm metal of the bow nearly vibrating in my fingers. Finnick starts to make his way over, and his green eyes look happy.

Finnick walks over, smiling. The rope flower starts to burn in my pocket, and I allow myself to give him a small smile back. Once Finnick is by my side, he tugs on my braid. Looking up at him, I notice the light dusting of freckles on his nose. "Can you hit that?" he asks. He points out, gesturing at the dummy that sits over fifty yards away. I squint a little, trying to calculate the angle in my head. Instead of responding, I take aim with my bow. Finnick puts a hand on my shoulder, but I shoot him a glare and he drops his hand. My toes tingle with anticipation, my finger twitching. I aim the tip of my arrow just above the dummy's chest so gravity can pull it down towards the center. I suck in a breath and let go.

The arrow whistles through the air, a glinting rain drop shooting through the air. The arrow lodges itself in the dummy's chest, dead center. A few of the tributes have taken notice, and I allow myself a small moment of victory. When I turn around I see Finnick shaking his head, smiling.

I smile a little wider, and then I remember the rope flower in my pocket. I slowly dip my fingers in my pocket, pulling it out. I place it Finnick's hand, warm glowing all over my body.

I allow myself this small moment of joy.

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**Terrible I know. Epic writers block, there isn't even that much Finniss in this. Review please, I really need some oneshot ideas. Thanks for bearing with me, I've been terrible I know. **

**Thanks!**


	8. Best Forgotten

**Sorry I've been so terrible about updating. I've been working on one of those 24-author collaboration Hunger Games things, something I have never done before. As much I hate to say it, I'm not so in love with this story any more. But don't worry, I will continue it as long as my mind sees possible. Hope you like the chapter!**

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As we entered Haymitch's house, the stench of liquor was almost a slap to the face. Finnick wrinkled his nose as we walked into the living room. I accidently kicked over an old glass bottle, the remaining contents of stale alcohol spilling onto the carpet. I grimaced as Finnick bent down to pick it up. I pointed to the waste bin sitting in the corner of the living room, already overflowing with trash. I jumped at the sound of Haymitch's loud snoring. He sat hunched over his battered table, clutching a knife loosely in his hand. I crossed the room to wake Haymitch, the reek of spirits even stronger. "Haymitch, wake up," I say. I shake his shoulder a bit, but he doesn't wake up. "Haymitch," I say louder. I glance at the knife in his hand, thinking of the last time I woke him up. I nearly got stabbed.

I pry the knife from his fingers, dropping it on the floor. The blade makes a loud clang when it hits the hardwood floor, and Haymitch stirs a little bit. I roll my eyes, sighing through my nose. "Finnick, get the basin of water," I say. Finnick goes into the kitchen, humming a tune I can't recognize. I hear the sink turn on, and I direct my attention towards Haymitch once more. I try shaking his shoulder again, but he only grunts in response.

I hear the squeak of the sink turning off, and Finnick emerges with the basin of water. I take it from him, positioning it over Haymitch's head. I tip the bucket, the water pouring all over his head. Haymitch yells in surprise, violently swearing and slashing his now empty hand around. I don't say anything, but I hear Finnick snort behind me.

Haymitch pulls off his soaking sweater, leaving a slightly less dirty undershirt behind. Finnick takes the empty bucket back into the kitchen as Haymitch glowers at me. "Why are you here?" he asks, his eyes still heavy with sleep. I bite my lip, already regretting coming to him. I take a seat next to him, the wooden chair creaking underneath my weight. "Peeta is coming back in three days," I say quietly. The jumbles of emotions inside of me stir. Excitement, fear, dread, and joy all tumble within me at once. Haymitch must notice my distress, because his eyes soften. "Indeed he is sweetheart."

"Indeed he is."

Finnick now stands behind me, playing with my braid. I ramble on about Peeta's treatment in the Capitol, how his night terrors have significantly gotten worse. Haymitch nods his head every now and then, glancing longingly at his stash of liquor in the cabinet. Eventually, Finnick leaves my side to pour him a small glass. Eventually, all of this talk about Peeta brings tears to my eyes. A lump climbs up my throat, and Haymitch pats my hand. "I know its hard," he begins, "Peeta will never be the same again." He glances at Finnick, who was now sitting on the couch, tying knots with his rope. "Neither will he," he adds. I nod my head slowly, understanding what he means. "And neither will I," I say, with an extra note of finality.

"Do you think Peeta still loves me?" I ask. My voice was now small, almost a squeak. It was a childish question; a question I already know the answer to. Of course he doesn't. Because by the time he gets back, he won't even remember who I am.

But I still pray I'm wrong.

Finnick gets up from the couch to sit next to me at the table. Haymitch looks about ten years older, his face creased with sorrow. I see Haymitch's lips moving, but I can't hear anything. Eventually, Finnick has to kick my leg from under the table to get my attention. I try harder to listen to Haymitch's words. "Katniss, they did this to protect Peeta. You too," Haymitch says tiredly. "I know, I just…" I seal my lips shut, not trusting my voice anymore. "When Peeta gets back, he won't remember anything," Haymitch says quietly. "Anything?" Finnick asks. "Anything." Haymitch concludes. "They had to erase everything. The venom consumed his entire brain, Katniss. Every memory was tainted. Every moment of joy erased." I feel another round of tears coming up. "He was broken," Haymitch finally adds. "This was the best they could do to fix him."

The thought of Peeta coming back an empty person causes something to die inside of me. He would be nothing but a solid block of grey. No emotion. No memory of anything. No memory of me.

Haymitch's eyes start to water, a sight that makes me want to cry even more. I have never seen Haymitch cry. Ever.

Haymitch wipes his tears with the back of his hand, sniffing a little bit. "I know it'll be hard for you kid. But I want you to know, even though you don't have Peeta, you have two people who love you right here." I'm nearly shocked at his words. Haymitch has never openly shared his feelings with me, and I feel a deep surge of gratitude for his love and friendship. Haymitch gives a half smile. "Are you sure you're ready?" Haymitch asks.

"Yes." No. This time, Finnick squeezes my hand from under the table.

After saying goodbye, Finnick and I walk across the lawn to my house. I slip off my boots and shrug off my jacket, and Finnick does the same. "Prim, I'm-" the words slip out before I can stop them. The house is empty, dark. Without the presence of Prim and my mother, it seems twice as big and lonely. Tears spill out of my eyes, tickling my cheeks as they run down the planes of my face. Finnick doesn't say anything about my crying. He swallows hard, trying his best to ignore it.

Because I suppose ignoring it is the best we can do. Finnick guides me to the couch, and he goes into the kitchen to start making dinner. I curl into the edge of the couch, using the balls of my feet to push myself deeper into the cushions. I close my eyes, trying to block out the visions of Prim in my head. In the kitchen, I hear Finnick softly singing. I focus on his voice, a higher pitch than I expected. I peer over the arms of the couch, watching his hands. The scars of muttations' teeth marks pepper his hands, but his face is the worst. A jagged, pink line stretches across his cheek, and other, smaller scars have planted themselves all over the rest of his face.

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing them to disappear. When I open my eyes, they're still there. I abruptly sit up, hopping off of the couch. Finnick has his back turned to me now, so he doesn't notice. I run up the stairs, trying to place my weight on my toes so he doesn't hear me. I wipe the tears that are now steadily gushing from my eyes, and dash into the bathroom. I close the door, locking it. I punch the wall, crying out. I gasp and sob, throwing and scratching everything I can get my hands on. In the mirror, I see a ragged, broken girl. Wisps of tangled hair have freed themselves from my braid, and another round of sobs rack my body.

On the counter, I see a pair of silver scissors. I crawl over; gripping the blades so tightly they cut my hands. I drop them on the floor, the metal clattering on the tile. At this point, Finnick will have heard me, and noticed that I'm gone. I can't bring myself to care anymore. I press the heels of my hand into my forehead, trying to dull the pain. I smooth back the wisps of hair into my braid, and grab the scissors. For a moment, I consider how easy it would be to just drag them across my wrists. It would be easy. I could be done.

With a shaky hand, I press the blade into my wrists, my inner voice screaming at me to stop. My gut wrenches, and I pull the scissors away from my wrists. I stand up, stumbling a little. I put the scissors to my braid, positioning them right where it starts. I close my eyes, trying to push the last bit of tears out of them. I shear off my hair, the sound of metal slicing through hair echoing in my head. My braid falls to the floor, and I sink to my knees, crying again. I throw the scissors across the room, and they fall into the shower. They probably scratched the marble. I run my fingers through what is left of my hair, choppy and short. I pull my knees to my chest, digging my fingers into my scalp. I start to sob again, but no tears come out. Maybe I've used them all up.

I wouldn't mind it.

Finnick bursts into the bathroom, gasping once he sees me on the floor. He looks at my severed braid, and then me, and then crouches on the floor next to me. "Your hair," he murmurs. He runs his fingers through my hair, and I start crying all over again when his fingers stop so suddenly. He grips my wrists, pulling me up into a standing position. He hugs me tightly, burying his face in my hair. He lets go of me then, and bends over to pick up my severed braid and the scissors that have fallen into the bathtub. He leaves the bathroom, and I follow him. He goes down the stairs, the wood thumping against his socked feet. I trail behind him, watching him go into the kitchen and throw my hair in the trash. He throws the scissors away too.

"Now that's just wasting scissors," I point out. It's a week attempt at a joke, my voice hoarse from all of the crying. Finnick laughs anyway, and he hugs me again. He keeps petting my hair, over and over again.

I stand on my tiptoe to peer over Finnick's shoulder, and see that whatever he was cooking must be done. "I think your soup is done," I mumble into his shoulder. He sighs, reluctant to let me go. I walk over to the cabinet to get two bowls, but when I open it I find it empty. I look over at Finnick, who has started humming again. "Where did the bowls go?" I say. Finnick points to the cabinet behind him, and I tilt my head to the side. "How come the bowls are in there?" I ask. Finnick shrugs nonchalantly, the soup bubbling loudly. "To change things up," he says. I nod, pretending I understand. I grab the bowls from their new cabinet, and place them next to Finnick. He looks at my hair one more time, shaking his head.

At the table, words start spilling out. I babble nonstop, about everything. Greasy Sae and her granddaughter, the new houses being built; we avoid all mentions of Peeta. As we chatter, I unconsciously tug at the ends of my hair, not used to the new length. Finnick notices this, and he gives me a quizzical look. "Why did you cut your hair?" he asks quietly. I shrug, not entirely knowing the reason myself. He chuckles, shaking his head. "I think it looks nice," he says. I blush a little, looking down. He redirects his attention toward my food, which I haven't touched. "You said you would start eating more," he points out. "I am," I say curtly. He points at my soup, already cool. I glare at him, swishing the liquid around in my bowl. "Eat," he says. I sigh, putting a spoonful in my mouth.

Later in the evening, I go into the bathroom to clean my teeth. I run a brush through my hair, not used to it stopping so abruptly. It's almost as short as Finnick's hair now.

In the mirror, I see Finnick enter, and I put the brush down. I stare at my reflection, my eyes hardening. Finnick comes up behind me, planting a light kiss on my cheek. His chin rests on the top of my head, and his arms wrap across my chest. He starts to hum again, swaying a little. His weight teeters to one side, and then the other. If I close my eyes, I can almost picture myself on a swaying boat, rocking on the rolling waves. I look at the crisscross patterns of scars on his arms, and flinch. Finnick stops swaying abruptly, his humming has ceased. "What's wrong?" he says. I shake my head, words already beginning to fail me.

He sighs, his breath ruffling the hair on the top of my head. It's silent for a moment, and then he starts swaying again. Eventually, his fingers wrap around my wrist, and he pulls me away from his body. I frown at the loss of warmth from his body, but then he takes my hands and puts them on his shoulders. I lock my fingers at the back of his neck, and he puts his hands on my waist. His fingers dip a little lower than I'm comfortable, but I try to ignore it. He starts to walk forward until I'm pushed up against the wall. My cheeks warm when I see how close our bodies are pressed together. He smirks a little, which makes me glare at him. He takes my hands off his shoulders and pins them near my head, lacing his fingers with mine. He's close enough now so that we share the same breaths, and he brushes his lips against mine.

I lean in a little, but he pulls away before I can do anything. He kisses me everywhere but my lips. My eyes, my hair, my cheeks; he keeps my hands planted firmly against the wall. He kisses me on the corner of my mouth, and I nearly yell in frustration. He laughs a little, but right before he kisses me I hear the doorbell ring. Finnick stays where he is, centimeters away from my lips. "Maybe they'll go away," he whispers. Five seconds later, the doorbell rings again. He sighs, pulling away.

He slowly unlaces his fingers from my hands, my arms stiff from being held up. He runs his hand through the length of my hair, and smiles. "I guess I should go see who it is," he says. I nod my head, trying to hide my disappointment.

He leaves the bathroom, and once I hear his soft footfalls on the steps, I quietly follow.

I hear the creak of the door open, and the cool draft seems to touch me even at the top of the stairs. I sit on the top step, peering thought the railings to see who it is. At first I only see Finnick, who speaks so quickly and quietly I hardly understand what he's saying. I strain my ears to listen, trying to pick up on the conversation. "I thought you were coming back in three days," Finnick says flatly. My heart flutters in my chest, but my stomach is knotted up with dread. If I'm right, Peeta is standing in my doorway. I slide down one step to get a better looking, almost falling down the stairs when my socked feet slip on the edge. The evening air has chilled me to the bone. I rub my hands over my arms, the tip of my nose already icy cold.

With a better view of the doorway, I see that it is Peeta. Warm tears fill my eyes, and I smile so wide my cheeks hurt. Peeta is back.

My Peeta is back.

His blonde hair is shorter than I remember, and a little thinner. But other than that, he looks perfectly healthy. His cheeks are rosy from the cold, and I almost yell at Finnick to let him inside.

"Look," Peeta begins, "I have no idea who you are, but my doctor told me I should come here first. Do you know where Katniss is?" My heart lurches at the sound of my name on his lips, and I smile even wider.

Finnick, however, seems more worried than anything else. "Do you…remember her?" he asks quietly. Peeta shakes his head. "No, but she must know me right?" Finnick nods slowly, as if trying to understand. Peeta tilts his head to the side a little, narrowing his eyes a little. "And you are…" As if breaking out of a daze, Finnick shakes his head a little, blinking a few times. "Right, right. I haven't introduced myself. I'm Finnick," he says. He reaches his arm out to shake Peeta's hand, and he responds with much vigor. "Nice to meet you Finnick," he says. I can't tell from here, but I think Finnick's eyes harden a little.

"Is Katniss around?" Peeta asks after a long period of silence. "I'll go get her," Finnick says. He motions inside, and dread immediately overwhelms me. Peeta is here. Inside my house,

Finnick crosses the room to go upstairs, but he stops when he sees me perched at the top. He climbs up, taking a seat next to me.

"Peeta is here," he says.

"I've noticed."

"Do you want to see him?" Finnick asks.

"Yes." No.

Finnick stands up taking my hand. Both of our hands are slick with sweat, which would normally make me uncomfortable.

This time, I hardly notice.

I stay right behind Finnick the whole time, hiding behind him. Seeing Peeta in my dining room makes me stop dead. He innocently sits at the table, hands folded, observing the pictures on the wall. I hide my face in Finnick's shirt, my excitement to see him now gone. Finnick stays where he is, un-moving. Eventually, I peer over Finnick's arm to look at him. I slowly move away form the safety of Finnick's body, unsure of what to say. Peeta eventually takes notice in me, and smiles. "Hi, you must be Katniss right?"

I nod my head; still trying to get over how unreal this all feels. I take a seat across from him, and Finnick plops in the chair next to me. Notice how his eyes seem glued to the painting hanging on the wall above my head. "Who made that painting?" he asks. I turn around, surprised that I forgot it was there. I don't even remember hanging it. His eyes are full of curiosity, and I almost burst into tears. I swallow hard, my fingers clenching.

"You did," I finally manage to choke out. Peeta purses his lips, confused. "I didn't know I used to paint," he says softly.

"All the time," Finnick adds.

I was surprised to hear his voice. For that one moment, I forgot he was even there. The fact that Peeta being here made me forget about Finnick entirely scared me for some reason. I took his hand from under the table, so next time I would remember he was there.

The rest of the night involved many questions and answers. I avoided all topics of his treatment, his nightmares. When I looked closer, I noticed the faint purple underneath his eyes. I swallow hard, remembering my own night terrors. "Do you get nightmares?" I mentally slap my self for saying something so stupid, but it just cam out. Even Finnick grips my hand tightly in warning. Peeta smiles, shaking his head. "No, but my medication makes it a little hard to actually fall asleep." I sigh in relief, happy that he isn't plagued with nightmares like the rest of us.

"That's…good," I finally manage to say. Peeta looks a little confused, his blue eyes clouding over with worry. "Why? Do you?" I chew on my lip, something that has always annoyed Finnick. I wish I could lie and say that I don't. Maybe saying it would make me believe it. And maybe believing it would make the nightmares stop. But somehow it feels like cheating, so I just decide to answer honestly. "Yes."

Finnick frowns at the table, and Peeta shifts in his chair. "Well," he starts, "maybe you could get some sleep medicine?" I shake my head, a lump forming in my throat. "Its not the sort of thing medicine can fix," I mumble. If it could, I would have overdosed on it by now.

A heavy silence settled over us, and I look at everything but Peeta's eyes. Peeta then glances at the clock, and then flits his eyes back to me. "It's getting late," he says. I nod my head, forcing a smile. "Thank you for coming to see me," I say. I glance over at Finnick. "For seeing us," I add. Finnick gives me a ghost of a smile, and then goes into the hallway to get Peeta's coat. I stare at Peeta once again. I know it would be selfish to ask this, but I do it anyway. "You don't remember who I am, right?" I wish I could say I regret asking, but I don't. Even if I already know the answer.

"No, I don't," Peeta says. Tears blur my vision, but I still try to plaster on a fake smile. "I wish I did," Peeta adds. I nod, wishing the same thing. Peeta walk over me, touching my arm hesitantly. "But we can make new memories right?" The hopeful look in his eyes reminds me of Prim so much I almost cry. But I don't want our first new memory to involve tears, so I push the emotion back. Finnick walks in with Peeta's coat draped over his arm. "Thank you," Peeta says. Finnick nods, seeming to be at a loss for words as well.

After Peeta leaves, Finnick crushes me in a hug. He kisses the top of my head, and warmth spreads though my entire body. He pulls away, trying to smile. I shake my head. "You don't have to smile anymore. Its just me now," I say. Finnick places a small kiss on my lips, a soft as a butterfly. "I'm going to go make some tea," he says. I nod my head, my heart glowing with appreciation for Finnick's presence. "I'm going to go outside," I say. His green eyes harden but I place my hands on either side of his face. "I'll be fine," I say. He hesitates, but finally nods.

I don't bother grabbing a jacket, assuring myself I'll be fine with my long sleeved shirt and pants. Once I get outside, I immediately start off to the pond.

The pond was finished a few months ago. Even when the fence was taken down, the remaining people who stayed were still too frightened to go into the woods. The only part of District 12 that actually held some beauty. Someone thought the District could use a little more cheer, so the townspeople decided to build a pond. It was Greasy Sae's idea to plant flowers around it. In the early spring, most flowers and bushes around it were just starting to sprout. The glassy surface of the water reflected the small lights that still lingered in the crippled buildings.

I took a seat next to a patch of just-blooming tulips. I was thankful to find there were no roses. The air had cooled considerably, and I was already shivering. My fingers were numb, and my chapped lips quivered against the cold. But I liked the icy slap.

It helped me wake up.

It helps me get a better grasp of reality. No sugar-coating.

Just cold, hard reality.

The night sky was black, but a few stars managed to sprinkle the sky. The night was clear, and the new moon even seemed to have an outline against the thick blanket of darkness. I tried to ignore my chattering teeth, but the faint clacking of the jerky movements in my jaw was starting to drive me insane.

I close my eyes, and lay down in the grass. The cold plants and soil tickle my exposed neck, and I cross my arms over my chest. From this angle, there seems to be more sky than earth. I relished the feeling of vulnerability in the vastness of everything around me.

I hear a twig snap, and sit up immediately. "Katniss? Is that you?" a soft voice asks. I squint into the darkness, trying to make out the dark figure in the shadows. They step forward, and I realize its Peeta. My body instantly relaxes, my muscles unclenching. "Yes," I say softly. "Its me." I stand up, my eyes more adjusted to the dark. "What are you doing here?" I ask. "I could ask you the same thing," Peeta says.

"I just needed to think," I mumble. Peeta doesn't say anything.

"You know it kills me, being here," Peeta begins. "Then why _are_ you here?" I say a little too harshly. Peeta shrugs. "I don't know. In hopes of remembering, I guess." I ponder over this for a moment. There is much I would be happy to forget. The Games, for example, are something I wouldn't miss having in my thoughts. But if I didn't go into the Games, I wouldn't have met over half of the people I love. Peeta. Haymitch. Finnick. Johanna. Cinna. I decide that I would rather remember than forget. Even if most of my memories are bad ones.

"There are many things you have been through that are best forgotten," I finally say. "I know," Peeta whispers.

"I know."

* * *

**Weird ending, but I hope it was good. Please review, it really makes my day and I would love to hear thoughts or ideas. Thanks! Happy Halloween everyone!**


	9. A Day I Haven't Loved you

**Hey guys! I just wanted to thank you for all of the support, it really makes me happy knowing you like my writing. Hope you like it!**

* * *

"Why didn't you tell me?" he says. I don't respond, not knowing the answer myself. How was I supposed to tell him Annie was really alive? "Why?" he says again. I look at his mouth, desperate to avoid his eyes. A deep frown creases his face, and I flinch. This wasn't supposed to happen. Not like this.

"I have to go back," he says, with a strong note of finality in his voice. "No!" I manage to say. He glares at me, angrier than ever. "No? _No?_ You're saying I can't go back to Annie? She's my _wife_!" He spits out the words with so much rage I can feel the anger radiating off his body. I open my mouth to say something, but close it immediately.

I was going to say she was also pregnant with his child, but something stopped me. Finnick was supposed to find out he was a father and be happy about it, not mad. Annie can tell him. She can show him, for all I know. The doctors said she was six months pregnant, so who knows how swollen her body is.

"Katniss. I vowed to be with her forever," Finnick says. Tears prick at the back of my eyes, and a stabbing pain climbs up my throat. I look down, angry with myself for being so weak. Finnick makes a sound of exasperation, knotting his fingers through his hair. "How did this happen?" he mutters.

I swallow my tears, clamping my teeth on my quivering lip. I will not cry. I will not cry. Finnick storms out of the room, climbing up the stairs. "I'm sorry," I finally manage to say. Finnick stops, standing in the middle of the staircase. "I have to leave," he says, not turning to look at me. I don't say anything back.

I flinch at his yelling, never sure if I had ever seen him so mad before. Eventually his angry shouts into oblivion quiet down. The silence was eerie. Scary, even. I almost like the yelling better than the quiet.

I stand in place, unsure of where to go. Finnick still hasn't come down stairs, and I make the assumption he won't be for a while. Reluctantly, I slowly climb up the stairs, wincing at the creaks in the floorboard. I walk down the hallway to Finnick's room, putting my ear to the door. He's talking, but not to himself. "Why wasn't I told?" I hear him say, his voice muffled by the wooden door. "Well, she didn't," he says after a long pause. I pull my head away from the door, not wanting to hear the rest of the conversation. I go downstairs, and retreat to the living room. I burrow into the couch, squeezing my eyes shut.

If I really try hard enough, I can pretend everything is ok. I can pretend Finnick isn't leaving. But I have never really been that good at acting.

I hear footsteps, and uncurl from my position. I peek over the edge of the couch, and see Finnick with a bag in his hand. I stand up, wiping my damp face with the back of my hand. Finnick puts his bad on the ground, and I glance down at it. I never really thought he had so little that was his. No trinkets from home, no family photos. It's then when I truly appreciate all of the remnants I have of my family. My father's hunting jacket. Prim's cat. Peeta's pearl.

"I'm sorry," Finnick whispers. He reaches out to touch my arm but I flinch away. "Please don't be like this," he begs. I shake my head. "Katniss, I have to go to her. Imagine if you found out Peeta was alive, in another District?" The thought of Peeta being alive brings tears to my eyes. The thought of him breathing, smiling, and laughing; it seemed so impossible. Salt water pours down my cheeks, tickling the sides of my mouth. "I shouldn't have said that," Finnick says. I nod.

I couldn't agree more.

I turn around, not wanting to look at him anymore. I go into the kitchen, and my eyes catch on the knife left on the kitchen counter. I think of how easy it would be to just end it all, and get rid of the suffering. Finnick enters the kitchen before I can even consider taking my life. "You should leave," I say flatly. I face the wall, because it makes it easier to say things without looking at his face. "You'll miss the train." The words choke in my throat, my pitch increasing as a sob threatens to escape my body. I cover my mouth with my hand, trying not to cry.

I don't know how long the silence lasts, but eventually Finnick grabs my shoulders and spins me around so I'm facing him. He moves the hand that was covering my mouth and puts it to my side. I stand rim rod straight, hardly even breathing. I don't even want to breathe anymore.

Before I can even say anything, Finnick smashes his lips into mine, crushing me to his body. At first, I can't even register what's happening. I don't move, or even open my mouth. I clench my muscles, trying to pretend he isn't here. That he isn't kissing me. Eventually, he puts his hand on the back of my head and pushes me closer, trying to make me respond. Tears pour out of my eyes, but I don't do anything.

He frantically moves his lips against mine, whispering things I can't even understand. Everything is numb.

He clutches my body so tightly it starts to get hard to breathe. I consider holding my breath so I pass out, but I decide against it. Finnick starts to plant kisses all over my face, putting so much passion into each one it makes me wonder how fire doesn't come and consume me right now.

I try to pull away, but this makes him kiss me even harder. It almost feels like he's trying to kiss the life back into me.

It won't work. The life inside my body had already left.

Eventually he stops, breathing heavily. I close my eyes, almost at peace. He could do whatever he wanted. He could give me a thousand kisses. I can't feel anything anymore. It was all numb.

"Please don't do anything crazy while I'm gone," he begs. I see the pleading look in his eyes, but I keep my face blank. I'm looking into his eyes, but all I feel is glass. I don't say anything.

I try not to make promises I can't keep.

Finnick still holds me tightly, but I don't make any move to hug him back. He was my one lifeline. And now he's leaving.

Finnick places one more kiss on my lips, softer this time. "Goodbye Katniss," he whispers. I don't say anything. I stare straight ahead.

He sighs, and turns to leave the kitchen. I silently follow him. He grabs his bag that he left at the door, clutching it tightly. "You told me you loved me," I say quietly. "I do," he says. I shake my head. "I will always love you." I stare at him, trying to memorize everything about him. His eyes, his hair.

"You love someone else, Finnick." The words burn in my mouth, and I swallow hard. "You don't love me," I say. I close my eyes, feeling as if I have finally confirmed it. Finnick walks up to me, his scent no longer warm and inviting. It was toxic. Deadly. Poison.

He tries to kiss my cheek but he stops when he sees a new set of tears pouring out of my eyes. He kisses my damp face anyway, and I make a mental note to wash my face later.

I close my eyes again, crumpling to the ground when I hear the door open.

I start to cry when I hear it close.

* * *

The phone rings, but I ignore it. Finnick has tried to call once every day, at the same time. I never answer. I learned to embrace the numb. I suppose I would rather live with no feeling at all than put up with the pain that comes with emotion.

Every day when I wake up, fear strikes up in my heart. With each passing week I worry I will forget. I had no picture of him, no drawing. I fear that one day, all he will be is a faceless name.

I go into his room frequently. His scent still seems to creep through the strong odor of bleach. I stripped off his sheets and pillows the day after he left. His smell burned my nose. I preferred the bleach.

I sit on the bed, listening to the squeak of the springs. I lie back, staring at the ceiling. I spread my arms across the bed, trying to take up as much space as possible. It felt good to stretch my body. I stretched as far as I could, trying to be like the starfish Finnick used to tell me about. Tears well up in my eyes, but this time I let them fall. Crying was a part of my routine. A necessity.

I sit up, glancing around the room. It's almost an obsession, checking to see if everything has remained in its place. All items were in the same spot as they always were. I stand up, slowly walking towards the dresser. I haven't opened it, because I just assumed Finnick had taken all of his clothes. A small part of me wants something to be in there. Most of me was praying it was empty.

I slowly pull it open, almost as if there is a wild animal I'm afraid will jump out. When I open it all the way, I see that there is nothing inside. Nothing but an open mouth waiting to be fed with items. I place my hands inside, letting my fingers feel the smooth wood. I close my eyes, trying to picture Finnick putting his clothes inside of this drawer. I open my eyes. This was something to painful to remember.

I look inside the drawer again, double checking to see if there is something inside. Nothing. I open the second one, hope fluttering up in my chest once more. Nothing. I pull open the third, but hesitate. I try to stifle the butterflies flittering in my chest, but to no avail. I pull open the drawer. I find a rope inside.

I immediately grab it, turning it over in my hand again and again. I have trouble believing it was real, but the roughness of it in my fingers couldn't possibly be pure imagination. My fingers begin to tie one of the first knots I learned during training, my mind playing next to no part in any of it. All of it was muscle memory. I smile, happy to have a piece of him. I put it in my pocket, patting it every one in a while to feel the familiar shape of it. Just to make sure it was still there.

I go downstairs, a strange sense of confidence welling up in me. I put on my hunting jacket, and slip on my boots. I pat my pocket again, double checking. I stand hesitantly in the doorway, chewing my lip. I grit my teeth, and shove the door open before I can change my mind.

It was bright outside. It was balmy, but a cool breeze reminded me that bringing my jacket was a good idea. I tried not to look back, worried that I would change my mind and go back inside if I saw the welcome safety of my home. I head in the direction of the town square, my confidence growing with each step.

Besides a few people sprinkled in the streets, there is nearly no one around. No one pays much attention to me, something I'm thankful for. I keep my eyes trained on the sky, admiring the wispy white of the clouds. The sky is sporting a sparkling cerulean, and it looks so perfectly blue you would almost think its fake. I'm snapped out of my daze when I bump into someone. When I look up, I see that its Thom. "Sorry," he says. "I guess I wasn't looking where I was going." I small smile threatens my mouth. "Yeah, me too," I manage to say. "Are you feeling ok?" Thom asks. "Yes," I say slowly. "Why?" Thom scratches his head, looking about ten years younger in doing so. "Well, you haven't left your house in two months," he says.

Hearing him say it out loud stirs something in me. Two months? Was it really that long? "Katniss?" he asks, "Sorry," I begin, shaking my head a little, "I just didn't really pay attention to how long I was inside." He nods, as if he is trying to understand. After an awkward pause, he clears his throat. "So, where're you headed?" he asks. "Not sure. I just wanted to get outside." He nods again, this time smiling. I look up at his face, surprised when I see how similar he looks to Gale. Same grey eyes, dark hair. Only Thom seems to smile more.

"Well, I need to visit Sae. She ordered some food, so I got to deliver it," he says while shifting the bundle in his arms. "Do you mind if I come along? I haven't seen her in a while." I bite my lip, already regretting saying that. "Sure," he says. He smiles, and for a moment we just stare at each other in a comfortable silence.

Spending the day with Thom made me realize how much I had been missing. Everyone seemed happy, renewed. I desperately wanted to be a part of this newer, more loving District. As we walk towards my house, I notice how close Thom and I were to each other. With each footstep our hands brushed, and it felt so natural I hardly noticed it until now. We stop at my doorstep, Thom standing a little nervously. Dusk was coming quickly, the sky already imitating the color of a tangerine. "Thanks for spending time with me today," I say as genuinely as possible. A smile plays on my lips, and it feels unnatural. I can't remember the last time I had smiled, but it seemed ok to do it now. Thom keeps staring at me, which makes me feel a little nervous. "You know, I have never seen you smile until just now." This makes me smile even more, and for a moment of time I almost feel happy. Thom kisses my cheek softly, and then he pulls away. "You should do it more often."

He smiles, and then turns around to walk home. My cheek tingles, the feel of his lips still there. It felt so unreal, to feel loved. Before he can walk away, I grab his hand. He turns back to face me, and I pull him closer to me. I stand on my tiptoes, planting as kiss on the corner of his mouth. He puts his hands on the small of my back, and starts kissing me full on the mouth. My body lights on fire, but only for a second.

He kisses me gently, his lips warm and soft. But the feeling is foreign in my mouth. I try my best to kiss him back, everything moving in slow motion. I don't think anyone has ever kissed me so sweetly. But the whole time my hand is on my pocket, checking to see if the rope is still there.

* * *

The next few weeks are easier with Thom to keep me company. I never mention the Games, and he never asks. But he's there when I need him. He continues to deliver supplies to Greasy Sae, something I usually help him with. Everything was easier. Except when Finnick would call.

"Aren't you going to answer that?" Thom asks. I don't say anything at first, squeezing my eyes shut and praying the ringing would cease. It continues to ring, and Thom gets up to answer it. I grab his wrist, begging with my eyes. "Don't," I say softly. He sighs, and takes his spot on the couch once more. I snuggle into his side, breathing in his scent. I close my eyes, trying to forget it all.

* * *

"Katniss, is there something I should know?" Thom asks. "What?" I ask, but I already know what he's going to say. "The phone always rings, every day, at the same time. Who's calling you?" I shake my head; dread already building in the pit of my stomach. The phone was supposed to ring at any moment.

Time lapses into silence, and I cringe in anticipation. As predicted, the phone started ringing, and Thom stood up before I could stop him. He crosses the room and picks up the phone, annoyance clearly evident in his tone. "Who is this?" he asks. I strain my ears to listen. "Yes, she's here," Thom says while shooting me a look. At his words I cower into the couch, praying that he won't make me talk to him. Thom pauses, looking at me expectantly. I shake my head, hoping he will understand. "I don't…I don't think she wants to talk to you," he starts. I nod my head to no one in particular, appreciating the fact Thom understands. "Ok. I'll tell her."

I release a breath I didn't realize I was holding when Thom hangs up. He sits on the couch with me, pulling me into his side. "I didn't know Finnick called you every day," Thom says. "_Tries_ to call," I point out. "Why don't you answer?" he asks. I shrug, afraid to tell him. I worry if he finds out I'm still pining for a man who doesn't love me, his feelings will be hurt. I still feel waves of guilt every time he kisses me.

"He wanted me to tell you…Annie, was it? He wanted me to tell you Annie gave birth to her child." I smile at this, imaging a smaller version of Finnick. "Is it a boy, or a girl?" I ask, my voice barely audible. "A boy," he says, and he smiles. "Maybe we could visit them some day," he adds. I frown, already imagining it. I didn't want to see Finnick. I only wanted to see the baby. "Maybe," I say unsurely. "I would love to get out of here," he says. I look at him, a wistful look already planted in his silver eyes. I sigh, wishing this conversation hadn't happened. "Ok," I say finally. "Really?" he asks excitedly. "Really," I say.

I think of how excited he must be, considering the fact he's only been to District 13. I'm not even sure if that counts as a District. He kisses me on the cheek, smiling while doing so. I can't help but feel a little excited, but it is quickly replaced with fear. I try on focus on Thom's excitement in hopes of distracting myself. The rope burns in my pocket. I slip my fingers inside, checking to see if it's still there. I sigh in relief, finding strange comfort in knowing it was there.

We decided not to tell Finnick and Annie we were visiting so it would be a surprise. We only pack for 2 nights, because I don't want to stay longer than we have to and Thom still has his delivery schedule. In the train, I try and control my breathing. All of my experiences with trains involved the Games. I try and remind myself it's just a trip to District 4, but even Thom's fingers laced through mine provide little relief. He must sense my discomfort, so he pulls me into his arms. I thread my fingers in his black hair, trying to calm down.

The trip was long, and I spend most of it gazing out the window. It was a one day trip with no stops, but each minute seemed to last forever. I noticed the change in scenery as we left, the humbleness of District 12 receding into the ruins of 11 and 10. I flinched when I saw a memorial in District 7. My thoughts wandered to Johanna, and I wondered what she was up to. Eventually the thick trees of the upper districts turned into grassy valleys, and then sandy dunes. The conductor announced we would be arriving in five hours, so I decided to get some sleep. I burrowed into the velvety cushions of the seat, using Thom's arm as a pillow. I spent the next few minutes gazing at his face, his steady breathing lulling me into a deep sleep.

I'm awoken by the sudden jolt of the train, and my eyes fly open. Thom smiles at me, his kind eyes shining with so much affection it made me want to cry. The train eventually slows to a stop, and I swallow hard. "What time is it?" I ask. "About 2:00," Thom says. I nod my head slowly, nausea creeping in. When the train stops, and people start to exit, I take Thom's hand tightly in mine. "Don't let go of my hand," I say. "Never," Thom whispers.

The first thing I notice about 4 is the heat. The sun shone brightly in the sky, and I had to shield my eyes in order to see properly. All I could make out was the thin stretch of palm trees in the distance. The square was wrapped in a semi-circle around the train station, and I'm appalled at how un-damaged everything is. But I suppose District 12 got the worst of the rebellion. Thom takes my hand, our bags in the other. I take my bag from his hand, feeling uncomfortable receiving extra favors. "Now," Thom begins, "we just need to find Victor's Village." I nod my head, not sure where to start. District 4 was way bigger than 12, and I was feeling a little lost. I stand on my tiptoes, trying to get a better view. Thom picks me up, lifting me higher than I thought he could. "See anything?" he asks. I shake my head. He places me down, squinting against the hot sun. A man with white-blonde hair passes by us, and Thom taps him on the shoulder. "Excuse me, do you know where Victor's Village is?" The man gives Thom directions, but I am too busy marveling at my surroundings to hear. Everything was so different. I could hear the whispers of the ocean, and sandy paths winded around the entire square. "This way," Thom points. I take a deep breath of the warm, salty air, and follow.

As we walk towards Victor's Village, there are a few points and stares. I try my best to blend in, but my pale skin and dark hair was a shock against the tan, light-haired residents of the District. I spent most the walk clinging to Thom's arm, hiding behind him. As we approach the looming beach houses that made up Victors Village, I had to resist the urge to turn around and run. "Which house do you think is theirs?" Thom asks. I scan the little array of houses, but my eyes catch on the abundance of little toys in the front yard of the one closest to the sand. The ocean was only a few yards away from all of the houses, and I could almost feel the spray of the ocean on my cheeks. "I'm guessing that one," I say while pointing to the house I was observing. Thom nods, holding my hand a little tighter.

We walk down the worn path, and once we reach the porch my hands start to sweat. Thom kisses me gently, urging me to knock on the door. Hesitantly, I raise my arm to rap on the door. I take a deep breath, and knock on the door.

No one answers, but I wait a little longer. I turn around, opening my mouth to say they probably aren't home when the door opens. I turn back to face the door, and see Finnick staring at me with a shocked look on his face. He wears a white shirt and tan pants, and his skin is much darker than I remember. He was beautiful, as always. Before I could even say anything he practically jumps on me, crushing me in a hug. I stumble backward, almost bumping into Thom. "Oh my god," Finnick mumbles into my hair. "I can't believe you're here." My arms are stiff at my sides, and I can only imagine how Thom feels. I'm glad I'm facing the other way, because I don't have the heart to see the look on his face right now. I try and wiggle out of Finnick's hug, but this makes him hold me tighter. For a moment I consider returning the hug, but then I decide against it. Finnick pulls away after what seems like forever, his eyes shiny with tears. "I'm sorry I just…I can't believe your actually here." He smiles so wide it makes my cheeks hurt, and I struggle to keep my composure.

"What are you doing here?" he asks excitedly. I step a little closer to Thom, which is when Finnick must realize I had someone else with me. "You must be the one I spoke to on the phone the other day," Finnick says. "Yeah. I'm Thom," he says curtly. All signs of Thom's gentle demeanor had vanished, and I almost cringe at how stiff he stands. "We wanted to meet your baby," I say after a long pause. This makes Finnick smile even wider, and at this point my cheeks throb just to look at him. "Come inside," Finnick says. "Annie is out right now, but she'll be back in an hour. Where are you staying?" At this, Thom and I exchange a look. We hadn't exactly thought about that. "Do you have a place to stay?" Finnick asks again. I bite my lip. "I'm sure we'll figure something out," I say. Thom nods, his jaw clenching and unclenching. "Please, just stay here. We have plenty of rooms upstairs," Finnick says.

I honestly hated the idea of staying here, but we really had no other option. I was trying to think of a nice way to decline, but Thom agreed before I could say anything. I sigh, already regretting coming here. Finnick led us into the living room, and sat us on the couch. "I'll go upstairs and get him," he says. I nod, thankful for a moment alone with Thom. He still clutches his bag tightly, and I pry it from his fingers, placing it on the floor. It is then when I actually get to look around the room, and admire how pretty it is.

The wooden floors are painted white, bits of it chipping with age. The walls were a pastel teal, decorated with different pictures and paintings. A large bookshelf sat to the right of the couch, stuffed with different books and papers. "This is a pretty house," I say softly."Very homey," Thom agrees. I notice how he sits on the edge of the couch, ready to jump up at any moment. "I'm sorry," I say after a long pause. "It wasn't your fault," Thom says. "It was just unexpected I guess." I nod. Unexpected was a good word for that little exchange at the door.

I hear the stairs creak, and my head snaps towards the direction of the noise. Standing there is Finnick, with his little baby wrapped in a baby blue blanket. It almost seems like he forgot we were here, because a whole minute of him just cooing at his child passes without interruption. Finnick finally comes to his senses, and he looks up at us, smiling. He slowly walks over to me, and stretches his arms out. Hesitantly, I outstretch my arms as well, surprised when I feel how light his baby is. "What's his name?" I ask, my voice no louder than a whisper. "We haven't decided yet," he says. I take a good look at the baby, surprised when I see how much he looks like Finnick.

The baby, not sure of his surroundings, stares at me with wide eyes. He takes my thumb in his hand, squeezing it repeatedly. I smile, tears blurring my eyes. He had the same green eyes as Finnick, but these had flecks of blue and gold in them, like it was looking into the ocean. I gently brushed my forefinger over the baby's cheek, a tear rolling down the side of my face as the little infant releases a small peal of laughter. Thom walks over to me, standing next to me as I revel in the beauty of this child. "He's amazing," he whispers. I turn around to give him a tearful smile, and he kisses my forehead. I turn my attention back to the baby, swaying a little. He gives a little yawn, and starts to close his eyes. I plant a little kiss on his forehead, nuzzling my nose against his cheek. The baby opens its eyes one last time, the shock of green so evident it almost seemed inhuman. He placed his little hand on my cheek, and little tingles raced up my face. The baby pulled his hand back, and I wrap his blanket a little tighter around his body. Carefully, I place him gently into Finnick's arms. In our brief exchange, his finger brushes my wrist and I resist the urge not to reel back and yank my hand away. I swallowed hard, giving one last smile at the little baby.

Finnick takes him from my arms, saying he will take him upstairs. As Finnick leaves to tuck the baby in, I take a seat on the couch next to Thom. I snuggle into his side, thankful he came with me. He places his hand on my cheek and presses his mouth to mine, kissing me slowly and gently. All the guilt I felt for leading him on evaporates, and for a moment I think I could actually love him, and be with him. I kiss him back this time, taking his hand in mine.

I open my eyes, and over Thom's shoulder I see Finnick. I slowly pull away, biting my lip. Thom looks confused, so he turns around. He sees Finnick, and he faces me again. We exchange a glance, and Thom looks a little guilty. I don't know how long Finnick was standing there, but it was long enough to see me kissing Thom. Guilt consumes me, but then I remember it doesn't matter that I was kissing someone else. Finnick is married, and has a family. He's not even mine to cheat on.

Finnick acts as if nothing has happened, sitting across from us in a wooden chair. He glances at our joined hands, and his smile falters a little bit. Thom must notice this, and he squeezes my hand a little harder. Finnick's face falls for a split second, but he quickly recovers. I swallow hard, a sob threatening to escape my lips. I had never realized how much I had missed Finnick until now.

I hear a knock at the door, and it makes me jump. Finnick stands up, excitement clearly evident on his face. "That must be Annie," he says. I give Thom a worried look, and he puts his hand on my cheek in reassurance. I hadn't seen Annie in almost a year. What would she be like? My thoughts are interrupted by Annie's voice, her laughter the sound of ringing bells. My hands start to shake and I nearly gasp when I see her enter the living room.

Beautiful wasn't even the right word to describe her. She was no longer the ragged girl in a hospital gown anymore, she was a sparkling goddess. Her eyes were a crystalline emerald, her brown hair glossy and thick. Her whole face glowed with happiness; there was no trace of fear in it anymore. When she sees me, her whole face lights up. "Katniss! It's really you!" she exclaims. I give her a small smile, standing up to give her a hug. She embraced me tightly, the scent of vanilla and lemon filling my nose. "I'm so happy you're here," she says. I pull away, smiling. She was so pretty it hurt.

Finnick, grinning behind her, planted a kiss on her cheek. I swallow hard. "Please tell me you'll be staying with us," Annie says. I turn around to face Thom, and he nods his head. "Yes," I finally say. Annie laughs in delight, clapping her hands. Annie finally notices Thom, and she smiles pleasantly."Oh! I don't think I've met you before. I'm Annie," she says. Thom smiles at her, shaking her hand. "Thom." A small smile plays at my lips. "I'll go start on dinner," Annie says. Thom walks up next to me, putting his lips to my ear. "I'm going to put our stuff upstairs ok? I'll be right back." I swallow hard, but force a smile. "Ok," I say. Thom takes our things and goes upstairs, asking Finnick where to put our things.

"Third door on the right," Finnick says. It registers in my mind that Thom and I will have to share a room. The thought made me feel a jumble of emotions at once, but I tried to ignore it. With both Annie and Thom gone, Finnick and I are left standing awkwardly in the living room. "Do you want to go outside?" he asks. Truthfully, all I want to do is find Thom. But, I have a feeling he wants to talk to me, so I nod my head.

He looks down at my hand, and he reaches over to take it in his. I pull my hand away before his fingers touch my hand. He frowns, but he replaces it with a smile. He walks out of the living room, and I follow him silently. I keep replaying our last conversation in my head. I thought he had loved me. Maybe he did. But not anymore.

The evening air was cool. The breeze rustles my hair, and I sighed at the salty freshness of the air. Finnick stands a little awkwardly, his fingers twitching. "You're still beautiful," Finnick finally says after a long pause. I sigh, wishing I hadn't agreed to come out here. "Finnick-"

"You are," he says. "You always were, Katniss." I bite my lip, wishing he would stop messing with my head like this. "I should go inside," I say while turning towards the door. Finnick grabs my wrist, his eyes shining with desperation. "Please. Stay." I shake my head, trying to wriggle out of his grasp. "I've always loved you. I still love you," Finnick says. I stop, my eyes wide. How could he say this? He has a wife, and kid!

I try to think of something to say, but all I can do is stare. _Isn't this what you wanted?_ I ask myself.

I wanted Finnick to love me, but it was too late. I couldn't love him. I can only be left so many times.

Tears blur my vision, and spill over my cheeks. "Oh, god," Finnick whispers. He pulls me into a hug, kissing the top of my head. "There wasn't a single day where I didn't think of you," he says. "Not a single day," he repeats. I start to sob, unable to control my crying anymore. I bury my face in his shirt, my tears and snot dampening it. "I wish it didn't have to be like this," he says. I nod my head into his shirt, wishing the exact same thing. He pulls my head away holding my face in his hands. "I have loved you every day," he whispers. He leans into kiss me, but that's when I realize how wrong this is. I put my hand to his lips, shaking my head. "We can't," I say. Finnick closes his eyes, kissing my fingers. "Please," he says. "All I want to do is kiss you." I look into his eyes, cloudy with desperation. My heart is racing, my cheeks are flushed. I close my eyes.

"Ok," I whisper.

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**Sorry if that chapter wasn't so good, I wrote it late last night. Also, it had a sadder theme because I lost my graphing calculator and I'm really upset. It was really fancy. As for Thom, I don't really know why I included him. He was mentioned in mockingjay, and I thought he deserved a little more character appreciation. Thanks for reading, sorry if there was anything wrong with spelling or grammar. I don't have anyone editing this, so bear with me. Thanks! Please review, I would love to hear what you think.  
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